Head Of The Giant
by the-red-dagger
Summary: Jason Brody makes his way back to the Rook Islands after being unable to adjust to his old life. Where he seeks peace he finds a new war between the Rakyat, Pirates, and Hoyt's remaining Privateers. Old illusions shatter, former friends become enemies, and Jason is forced to ally with an unexpected individual. No major OCs. Eventual Vaas/Jason. VERY DARK.
1. Chapter One: Broken Compass

A/N: I think it's only fair to say that this story will not end happily and there will be VERY dark themes. **If swearing, drug use, extreme violence, torture, gore, and sex (rape, dub-con, het and slash) bother you; this is not the right fic for you to read.** Otherwise read on.

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**HEAD OF THE GIANT**

**Chapter One: Broken Compass**

_Alice came to a fork in the road. "Which road do I take?" she asked.__  
__"Where do you want to go?" responded the Cheshire Cat.__  
__"I don't know," Alice answered.__  
__"Then," said the Cat, "It doesn't matter."_

"You are so fucked, Jason."

I stood in front of the mirror in my Bangkok hotel. The sun was setting below the city skyline, pouring deep reds and oranges into the room. I ran a hand through my clean cut hair and over the stubble I'd recently shaved into a goatee. I pulled off my nightshirt and looked back at myself. In the mirror I was a skinny white boy with a fading farmers tan and tribal tattoos up my arms. _You fucking poser_, a voice sneered in my head. _Out here that ink means shit. _I ran a hand over my chest, feeling the scar tissue. There were many small scars and a few shallow longer lines running crisscross along my abdomen.

I was lean, too. I had made a point to jog down the Santa Monica boardwalk everyday since I returned. I wanted to be ready for anything. But anything never came. It only took me six months to break and start looking for Rook Island. The only problem was the Islands couldn't be found. No records, no maps. Daisy couldn't recall the route we'd taken away from it. And when I'd asked she was hesitant until I lied about my mother hiring some muscle to find Grant's body. _Liar, liar,_ a voice singsonged somewhere deep in my skull. _Pants on fire…_

I pulled a pair of dark blue jeans from my small suitcase and stepped into them. An equally dark grey t-shirt hid the scars on my chest. I looked at myself again. I looked different. _How old am I?_ I thought and ran a hand over the short beard.

_Twenty-six, _I reminded myself. _You are twenty-six. You had your birthday party two months ago and you told everyone you were going to Monte Carlo. Monte Carlo for a photo-shoot. You liar. You even booked the tickets and boarded a flight. You little shit. You just never got on the transfer flight. Paris to Bangkok. Now it's Bangkok to Rook._

"I'm going back," I said aloud to the empty room. I'd picked up the habit on The Islands. It was a way of grounding myself. "I have to."

_You dumb fuck. You don't even know why, do you?_

"It's not over."

Liza and I had broken it off a few weeks after we'd come back to Los Angeles. She said it wasn't anything personal. That we were just different people. I'd grown up and gone down a path she couldn't follow. She said she didn't hold it against me. We were still friends right? Liza was always so fucking nice. It made me feel like the villain, the bad guy, not the one who'd saved their lives. _She remembers that knife against her throat, _the voice in my head reminded me constantly. _She remembers that moment when you considered it._ _That's something she can never forget. That moment when you hesitated._

I turned to a black suitcase on the nearby mantelpiece. I opened it and took the Berretta out. Nine-millimeter. It was a good gun, cheap, simple to use, and it had less kickback than some of the shitty pistols I 'd used on the Islands. I took the silencer from the other side of the case and fastened it with slow methodical movements. Bangkok, like Los Angeles, was a city where you could find _anything; _you just had to know who to ask and where to look.

There was also a shoulder holster and a large buck knife in the suitcase. The knife wasn't as big as the machete I'd carried on Rook but it could get the job done. I rolled up my right pant leg and clipped on another holster, this time sliding the knife in. I strapped on the shoulder holster and put the gun it its place, experimentally reaching to my left, drawing and replacing it several times to memorize the motion. I always have been a fast kinesthetic learner.

I pulled a heavy blazer over my shirt and effectively concealed the gun and fastened a single button, turning toward the mirror. I walked toward my refection then paused and stepped back a few paces. I started again, this time walking with a little more nonchalance and gusto. I needed to look cocky and trusting, young and wealthy, foolish and looking to party. I needed to look like the old Jason, who wasn't tattooed and scarred. I reached up and mussed my hair into uneven spikes, then smoothed the sides of the faux hawk. My reflection in the mirror smiled at me lazily.

_You're the best-goddamned poker player I have ever met_, I heard Sam say from somewhere far behind me. To myself I nodded adding, "I need a drink."

It took me several tries and several different nightclubs but I eventually found a receptive group of tourists. They were from sunny San Diego, California. There were two men (boys really) and three women. One of them had taken a liking to me and invited me to join them for drinks. I accepted, introducing myself as Jay and slurred out an excuse about losing my friends at another club. I just wanted to party, with or without them. The woman, Trish, laughed and said I'd have a much better time if I stayed with her group. They were trying to find another club, this one wasn't wild enough. I smiled and suggested a placed called Kịl Takon. Trish had laughed and asked me what the name meant in English. I said in honesty, I had no idea. I also said my friends had been there once before. We'd had the time of our lives.

They agreed and piled into two cabs. Sitting down, I laughed at one of the men's jokes. _Fucking moronic, _I thought and looked to the woman next to me. Trish reminded me of Daisy – all suntanned smiles and blonde hair. She grinned back at me and all I could see was the brown of Liza's eyes. I looked away and called for the cabbie to hurry the fuck up.

The neon signs on the Thai streets flew by. I tried to tune out one of the guys, Dave, who was talking about kickboxing and how he was going to train for a week with some Muy Thai masters. Dave said he was going to fight in the MMA circuit when he got back. He was going to be so fucking badass no one could mess with him, he just had to train with these special Thai masters. Trish laughed him off, telling him to stick to playing UFC on his X-Box. I felt the gun on my left side and thought about the scars under my t-shirt.

"Those are some cool tats," Trish said turning away from Dave. "Do they mean anything?"

I broke from my thoughts and forced a smile. "Yeah, thanks, I got them overseas. There supposed to be for a warrior, something about strength and shit like that. "

"Awesome," Trish said looking at my arm and then the rest of me.

Dave snorted, "You don't even fucking know what they mean, do you? They could mean cock sucking pussy in Chinese for all you know, dude."

"Fuck off, Dave!" Trish said with a laugh. "It doesn't matter, they look great Jay." I saw her eyes dart to my missing finger but she didn't ask. Maybe she thought it was inappropriate or too early in our friendship. I was just happy she didn't press the issue.

"Just fucking suck him already, Trish," Dave said crudely and the cab pulled up to the curb. I immediately recognized the flashing signs and blue neon lights. I ignored Trish's angry and embarrassed retort as I opened the door and stepped out. I took out my wallet pulling a few hundreds from within.

"For the ride," I told the cabby. "And putting up with that douche bag. Keep the change." The man gave me a quick quizzical look, his eyes looking my face up and down, before nodding, accepting, and driving off.

"Wow, thanks for getting that," Trish's voice drifted over to me. At the same instant Dave asked, "How much did you give him, bro, that was like, twice the fair."

I readied my face and turned to them with a casual smile. "Doesn't matter, I got cash to burn," I stepped up to the curb as the second cab stopped nearby. "And I thought he deserved a tip after putting up with your Muy Thai bullshit." The last statement was hard to say without malice, but I succeeded in turning it into a friendly jibe. Trish laughed.

We were joined by Ami, Sam, and Carly, who all stumbled out of the second cab. Carly went to Trish, giggling about how Sam and Ami had started to hook up right in front of her. Ami denied it frantically. Sam offered a flask of vodka to me whispering, "Best fucking cab ride ever, man."

I turned to the club and suggested we all enter. We paid our way in. Ami, who was only sixteen was unhappy she hadn't been able to use her fake ID. I suggested she try when she bought us all shots. She did and we all toasted to fun, fucking, and new friends.

It was only fifteen minutes before I spotted him. _DJ Raiden_.

Doug looked the same. He moved the same. He navigated through the crowd and talked to the tourists just as he had nearly a year ago. I felt a spike of apprehension as Doug looked our way. I turned back to my newfound friends and suggested I get the next round.

Walking up to the bar, I leaned against the table and sloppily fumbled through my wallet for a bill. "Sambuca shots, my man!" I called and waved the fifty-dollar bill out for the bartender to see. "One… two, five, six… Six shots." I splayed the bill out as the bald, portly man brought the drinks over. "This enough?" I asked.

"More than," the man said, pushing the glasses toward me.

"Keep the change then," I said over the din of techno music. "And keeps the shots coming!" The bartender laughed and nodded. I smiled and took three drinks in each hand. Carefully I brought them back to the table. I had noticed Doug watching my exchange with the barman.

As I set the shots down on the table for the group, there was a very subtle exchange between the two of them. The bartender inclined this head slightly toward us. Doug gave an almost imperceptible nod but didn't immediately head out way. _He'll go for one first, _I thought. _Someone stupid and trusting._ I saw his eyes rest on Dave.

"Gotcha," I said so softly Trish immediately asked me to repeat it. To her I only said, "That dude, right there, is DJ Raiden. My friend said he's chill, he can get you things and he knows the best places to go for shit."

"Cool," she said and downed more of her beer.

"Ever been skydiving?" I asked her over the music.

Trish laughed and grabbed my hand, "How 'bout a dance first, then we can talk about jumping out of air planes."

_It's good she's fucking afraid, _the voice said. _It might keep her alive._

The dance floor wasn't crowded and Trish pulled me onto it with ease. I thought about the last time I'd been here. I was in love with Liza and I think she loved me, too. Grant was alive. Riley wanted to fly planes instead of ride in the back of ambulances trying desperately to save everyone riding with him. Keith wasn't under arrest for manslaughter and confined to a psych ward. Daisy didn't pop pills to smile. And Oliver… was Oliver, just quieter and much less stoned, surprisingly. So much had changed. So quickly.

As we moved with the other dancers, I watched Doug introduce himself to Dave and then Sam. Ami came back with a few more beers and offered Doug one. Carly gave him a quick one over before introducing herself. He accepted Carly's hand and the beer from Ami. They seemed to converse amiably. Sam and Carly laughed a few times while Dave gestured animatedly.

Trish suddenly threw her arms over my shoulders and rocked into me. I hadn't noticed the tempo of the music slow. "What are you thinking about, Jay?" She asked.

I tore my eyes away from Doug to look at her. I could see everyone – Daisy, Liza, Oliver, Riley, Keith, Grant – in her and part of me wanted to like her. She was nice, probably kind, sociable and pretty. The other part, the stronger part, knew she wouldn't look at me when this was all over.

"A lot," I said. "Also, it looks like Sam and Dave have a new friend. Want another beer?"

"Sure," she said and I caught a sliver of disappointment cross her face.

When we reached Sam, Ami, and Dave they were already talking about the jump. Doug was encouraging them, promising a paradise where anyone could do anything. Total freedom and fun. How right he was. I made sure I graciously offered to pay for the plane ride in.

After excusing himself, Doug immediately went to the restroom. I saw him pull a phone from his pocket before the door closed. I only waited a few seconds before excusing myself. I ordered a few more beers for the table and then followed him.

Doug was in one of the stalls furthest from the door. I quickly checked to make sure the other stalls were empty. I had seen a maintenance sign pushed behind the door when I had last been in the room. It was still there. I easily pulled it out and put it outside the restroom. This would lessen the chance of any bystander walking in. Desperate drunk guys would just piss in the hall. That I had also seen and, not to proudly, done.

I stepped feather light and pulled the Beretta from its holster, silently screwing on the silencer. I took off the safety and winced at the click. Doug gave no notice. He was still talking.

"No, no, man," I heard him say. "There are six. Three girls, three guys. One guy's bankrolling the others but the girls are pretty and there's a young one. Like fifteen. They'll sell good. Yeah, they're going to jump in. Yeah, like the others. We'll prep them but if anyone dies, it's chill. Not like they'll be found, right? Cool, man. I'll text the guys at the strip with the info. Yeah. Later." I heard the sound a fingers tapping a touchscreen and stood still, waiting for him to finish texting.

I remained still until Doug unlocked his stall. I took two steps and rounded on him. My jacket unbuttoned and gun drawn.

"Drop the phone in the toilet and flush." Doug wheeled around and froze when he saw the silver barrel aimed between his eyes. I repeated, "Don't yell, scream, or run. I will shoot you if you do. Take your phone out of your pocket and put it in the toilet, then flush. Do it. Now!"

Doug turned, dropped his phone into the water and pulled the lever. "Who the hell are you man? What do you want with me?"

"Hands up and take a step to the right," I said. "I'm Jason Brody. Six months ago you lured my friends and I into a trap on Rook..."

"_You're _Snow White?" Doug asked incredulously, cutting me off. His eyes only left the barrel of my gun for a second to glance at my face. "Shit! You? Seriously? I thought it was that big dude… Grand, or something. Wasn't he military?"

"_Grant._ And he was," I said with emphasis. "He's dead. Your boss shot him in the neck."

"Shit," Doug said blanching. "So what's this? You gonna shoot me for revenge or some shit like that?"

"I want back on The Islands." Doug looked surprised again.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Is the gun serious enough?"

_Point it at his fucking junk,_ the voice said maliciously. _They fucking freak out when you do that shit, hermano. Scares the shit out of the fuckers._ I lowered the gun slowly, dangerously.

"Whoa! Okay, okay, shit, man, okay," Doug kept his hands up but nodded placating. His eyes traveled from the gun to his crotch and back again. "That airstrip a few miles from here – the same one you went to before. There's a plane set to fly your group over tomorrow afternoon."

"What time is it leaving?"

"Uh, three p.m. … I think."

"You think? What is the exact time?"

"Three, okay, three. The group gets there at twelve, they're prepped for the jump, someone radios The Islands and then the plane takes off at three. They jump at four and are picked up around four thirty or five. There's a system, man."

"If you're lying…" I gestured with the gun.

"Shit man, I'm not, I'm not, okay. I just get people to the airstrip. Its not like I do anything else."

"I know," I said and lowered the gun so it pointed at the ground. Doug visibly relaxed.

"Look man, I'm really, really sorry about your brother and your friends. I am. This is just a job, dude. I just follow orders."

"I know," I repeated. Doug looked from me toward the exit. I looked past him at the wall behind the toilet. "I know, but I don't care." I raised the gun.

"Oh fu…" His shout was cut off by one quick burst of sound. The bullet ripped through his skull and embedded in the concrete, his brain matter followed, splattering against the wall. Doug's body slumped backward and he landed in a sitting position on the toilet. His head hung low, blood and grey matter running down his neck. The room immediately smelt foul. Doug had shit himself.

I unscrewed the silencer and put the gun back in its holster, clicking the safety on.I closed the stall door and jiggled the latch until it locked, hiding Doug from view. I left the maintenance sign up and walked out.

The voice laughed. _Not bad, my friend. Didn't I say something about shitting himself? You can smile, Jason, it's kind of funny, huh?_

Trish nearly threw herself at me once I emerged. She was more plastered than the last time I saw her. She pulled me toward the dance floor but instead of moving to the music she just wrapped he arms around my shoulders. I was immediately glad she hadn't gone for my waist; the gun would have been hard to explain.

"Jay," she said as soberly as she could. "I have to know, because I've been thinking all night, I'm pretty, aren't I?" I wasn't surprised but I felt a little bad. I didn't want what she did. "And Dave keeps sayin' you've been looking at that DJ Doug all night. An' then you both go into the restroom… I gotta know… Are you gay, Jay? It's totally cool, too, if you are, I mean..."

I laughed a little. "No, not gay. My two last serious relationships kind of went bad. Really bad... Trish, I told you, I'm just here to..." She kissed me before I could say anymore and, even though I knew it wouldn't last and it wasn't mine to take, I kissed back. I thought of Liza and Citra, of everything and nothing at once, of blood and steel. I pulled back and Trish looked surprised.

_Rip off the fucking bandage, Jason,_ I told myself. _You know what you need to do. Do it now, before she gets hurt. Before you want more from her._

"No," I said. "Trish this isn't going to work. I've been thinking. We probably shouldn't skydive tomorrow. It was a stupid decision. I've got a flight in the afternoon anyway."

"What are you saying?" Trish seemed to have sobered up enough to pull away and stand on her own. "I thought we were…"

"We're not," I said. "You and your friends go on with your vacation without me. Maybe if we'd met six months before this would be different. You're great, you friends too, even that douche Dave. But I got other places to be and other shit to do."

"This is really fucked up, Jay." She looked like she might cry. I didn't blame her. I'd given her a lot of false signals and outright lies.

"That's life," I said simply and took one step back.

She wrapped her arms around her shoulders as if she were cold. "I wish you were gay. I think I'd feel less used, but, I don't even know what your angle is… Are you just fucking with me?"

"It doesn't matter," I said evasively, and then added, "I'd apologize, but it wouldn't do much good would it?"

"No."

"Bye, Trish." I didn't move and it took her a second to realize I was dismissing her. That probably hurt, too.

_What a waste, _the voice said. _You should have taken her back to your hotel, Jason, fucked her all night. What would it have mattered? She'll never see you again after this._

"Fuck you, Jay." She threw a well-deserved fist at my face. I moved and it caught my shoulder instead. It stung a little. She walked away into the crowd of swaying bodies, back to her friends. She could tell them what a douche I was, how I kissed her and then backed out of the trip. Dave might come over and threaten to Muy Thai my ass into the ground, but it didn't matter. I turned toward the bar and sat on one of the neon stools. I gestured to the portly man at the other end.

"Bad luck, my friend, " the bartender said with a shake of his head. I guess he'd seen. "One on the house?"

"Thank you," I said. I waved a hand and said the most general thing I could, "Women, you know?"

"Yes, yes," the larger man chuckled. He peered at my face through the dim neon blue light. "You look familiar, my friend, you been to Bangkok before?"

"Only once," I said evenly. "I loved this city. Up until a sky diving trip went bad." The bartender frowned and really looked at me. He was probably good with faces. "I'll take that Mai Thai."

I heard him hiss something under his breath, probably my moniker.

"Mai Thai." I repeated.

The bartender slammed the glass down in front of me and didn't say another word. I downed it and waited two hours. When his shift ended I cut his throat in the dark parking lot.

Part of me urgently wanted to cry and rage against the casualness of the kill. I wiped the blood off the knife and onto his white tailored shirt. He was an older man, maybe with a family, children, a wife that loved him and the money he brought home. She would never ask why he received such good tips. She knew she didn't want to know. It probably wouldn't surprise her to hear his throat was slit in some dark corner. But how was I really supposed to know anything about him other than he'd been there when my friends were lured to the Islands?

I went back to my hotel room and changed my cloths. There was a splattering of blood on the blazer's right cuff. It was dried and flaking but it still reflected the rising sun peaking through my windows.

_You are so fucked, Jason._


	2. Chapter Two: Rook Island

A/N: Hope you guys are enjoying this as much as I'm enjoying writing it. Leave me some feedback. :)

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**HEAD OF THE GIANT**

**Chapter Two: Rook Island**

_It was so long since she had been anything near the right size that it felt quite strange at first; but she got used to it in a few minutes, and began talking to herself, as usual, "Come, there's half my plan done now! How puzzling all these changes are! I'm never sure what I'm going to be, from one minute to another! However, I've got back to my right size: the next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden—how __is__ that to be done, I wonder?"_

I laid back on the bed and tried to sleep for a few hours. I needed to be at the airfield by twelve but sleep never came to me easily. I'd tried some pills a few months ago but they left me feeling hollow when I woke. It was like closing my eyes and then opening them seven hours later with a big dark hole in my brain. Ollie said I should try pot. When I did, I felt paranoid, constrained, and claustrophobic. I'd lain on my bed staring at the hands of my alarm clock move at a snails pace. Marijuana trapped me in time with nothing but frantic thoughts running through my brain. It was worse. Instead, I'd stayed at the LA Gun Range until it closed, practicing, then went to run along side the sea. Sometimes I ran for hours, just long enough for the physical exhaustion to pull me under.

I opened my eyes and heard my phone buzzing. It was ten in the morning and Liza was calling. She'd also texted several times. So had Riley and Daisy.

_Riley says you never made it to Paris. Jason where are you? Are you ok? _The first text read.

_Jason, please, call me as soon as you get this. I've left a voice mail. _Liza again.

_Jason, what's up man, where are you? _This time it was Riley.

_Jason, I got my friend to track your iphone. Are you in Thailand? What are you doing Jason? Please call me. I just want to talk. _Liza.

_Mom's worried, Jas. Call, ok? _Riley.

_Hey, J, Liza's really worried. Call her will you._ Daisy.

I turned off my phone and put it on the nightstand. I thought about sending something, maybe a message back saying: _Don't worry, I'm ok. :)_ Or: _Just took a detour, see you later._ Or even: _Gone back to the Islands. Don't come looking, I'm ok._

A welling feeling of doubt sprung up in my stomach and I thought about going back. About the seaside cliffs of Santa Monica and my cushy job as a fashion photographer's assistant. I thought of my soft bed, the girls in bikinis along Manhattan Beach, the best-hidden little sushi restaurant along Sawtelle Boulevard, imported beer and seasonal Napa Valley wine. It was a good life.

But I knew what also awaited me if I went back. Sleepless nights and an unending restlessness during the day. A constant waiting for someone or something to happen. _Hypervigilance_, Liza had told me once. _It's part of the PTSD. Jason, you really need to see someone about this... _We'd fought again that night. What was I supposed to tell a psychiatrist anyway? How could I explain that I'd killed hundreds of men, some in self-defense and many more to save my friends? I'd set men on fire and listened to them scream until they'd died. I'd figured out how to pull grenade pins from men's vests and throw them to their comrades - a flailing, shouting, human bomb. Most of all, I didn't know how to explain that I _missed _the action and adrenaline. I missed the lush plant life and the danger of predatory animals lurking in shaded corners. I missed the weight of my bow or a semi-automatic in my hands as I ran. I missed the hunting and I was a little afraid I might try to quench that thirst on the streets of Los Angeles.

Despite it all I didn't want to hurt them – my friends and family. I'd done so much, even become someone else to save them. Leaving them in the dark was something I had planned and tried to prepare myself for. I'd pulled away, slowly, from everyone. I didn't see Liza or Daisy for weeks; Keith and Oliver, I hadn't seen in months. Riley was the only one I'd spoken to recently and even then our conversation were brief and casual. We'd met for dinner and I'd asked about his EMT work. Neither of us spoke about the torture, Hoyt, or Citra. Riley had once said he forgave me. That voice in my head told me it was a lie.

_That's what going back means, _the voice said as I lay back. _Lies. Living with them, smiling through your teeth as your friends move on with their boring lives and you just wait for something. Anything**.**_ _You can't go back, Jason. You can't go back, hermano. If you do you're going to fuck up when you can't lie anymore and that's going to be worse than anything else you are doing right now._ I forced myself into a sitting position. Outside my window Bangkok sprawled out before me. I looked passed the smoke and steel, to the blue of the ocean and thought: _No, I'm not going back, but I should send them something._

I picked up my phone again. After a few deleted drafts I sent out a mass text, simply saying: _Had some business to take care of, I'm ok, don't worry. I love you all. _ I had deleted and then retyped the last sentence several times before deciding to include it. Unlike the first sentence, it wasn't a complete lie.

After the last text was sent I set the phone back on the dresser. I reached to the opposite foot of the bed and took the Berretta out of the discarded holster. I made sure the safety was off before smashing the screen with the butt of the gun. There would be no return texts, nothing that would make me doubt this course of action. When the screen snapped something somewhere inside me felt satisfied.

The airstrip was small with an old runway barely fit to take off from. It was in a more rural, secluded area outside of urban Bangkok, which made my task easier. I tapped on the cabbie's window when we pulled up to the gates. He stopped and parked the car to the side of the bumpy road. I stepped out, taking two satchels with me and handed him twice the fair he asked for. He took it and peeled off, no questions asked.

I took out a large machete from the smaller backpack and dumped the empty pack in some bushes. The machete had a holder that strapped to my belt and held the blade safely at my left thigh. I secured it and checked to make sure the gun under my arm was accessible. I picked up the larger pack and slung it over my shoulder. I'd packed my own parachute as well.

I rounded the fence and headed down the gravel driveway toward the airstrip. They were expecting a group of naïve tourists so I didn't feel the need to hide myself as I entered. There were two buildings made of corrugated metal, a smaller one, which served as an office, and a larger one, which was the hanger. I saw a man sitting in a plastic chair outside the smaller building. He was older, maybe forty, with graying hair and dirty overalls. I recognized him from six months ago but didn't remember his name. Thinking back, perhaps he never offered it and I had simply never asked. He looked up, peering suspiciously as I approached. I made sure I announced myself, calling loudly, "Hey, Doug sent me. I'm Jay, the rest are coming in a few minutes!"

"Ah, Jay," the man said through a heavy, undistinguishable accent. "Good, good. You can wait here." He offered me a seat in another chair. "I will tell the men to get the plane ready."

"Actually, could I come with you?" I asked earnestly. "I'm just curious to see what I'll be jumping out of." I gave him what I thought was a sincere smile.

The man regarded me with some suspicion, but eventually nodded. "Come, come," he said with a wave and headed to the hanger. "If you are worried about the condition of the plane, you should not be, I have certificates from the Thai Aviation Association. They clear the plane and the pilots. It's all very good. The plane is not too old. We do this many times."

"Great," I said as we made our way into the hanger. I was more worried about the number of men I would have to kill. There were two planes, both older twin engine Beechcraft D-18s. I recognized one with a red stripe and gold tiger head logo as the plane I'd jumped from before. Two men were fueling it up and tinkering with the engine, while another moved about in the cockpit. I mentally tagged them as hostel targets.

"I apologize, we may have a slight delay," the man said as he watched the men move. "One of our mechanics is not here. His brother was killed last night in a parking lot. Very unfortunate." The man looked me up and down. "Your friends are on their way?"

"I'm sorry to hear about your mechanic's brother," I said without remorse. "My friends will be here soon. We have all jumped before, a lot of times in the USA, twice in Mexico. I'm a category eight." I lifted my pack. "I've brought my own chute as well, if that's alright? We can jump as soon as the plane is ready."

"Fine, fine," the man said. Then he gestured to one of the men. "Fernando, get the plane on the runway soon. They leave early." One man waved back and gave a thumbs up.

"Now the matter of payment," the man turned to me. I nodded and the man motioned toward the office. "You have been informed we only take cash, then?"

"Yes," I said and followed him. "And cash I have." As we walked back toward the smaller building, I heard an engine rumble to life. Men were shouting over the growing din. I took a deep breath and felt my anticipation build.

We entered the small office and I reached into my jacket for the Beretta. There were pictures on the walls of smiling faces and skydivers holding hands as they fell. Many pictures were old and beginning to yellow with age. Perhaps at one time this company had been legitimate. In the center of the room was a small desk pushed up against some dilapidated filing cabinets and another plastic chair. The man had reached the desk and turned toward me. He was about to say something but stopped as I held up the gun. He looked from the gun to my face then at my other arm.

I held it up to show the beginning of the tattoo at my wrist and wiggled my missing finger, "Yeah, it's me."

"You killed Jorge's brother." the man said and sat down in the plastic chair. He put his hands flat on the table. "Are you going to kill me – us – too?" I saw the beginning of a faded tattoo on his wrinkled wrist.

"Yes." I said.

He seemed to think it over for a second before nodding. "I knew one day someone would come back from the Islands. We have done terrible things in our lives - myself and the men out there. For money, women, drugs. We hurt many and I dishonored my people." He stood up slowly and I took a hesitant step back. I had planned to tell him why I was putting a bullet through his head, but he already knew.

"I will ask you only one thing, Snow White." He turned his back to me and put his hands against the wall he faced. "Do not use the gun. You have a machete. Kill me with honor. Please."

I hesitated, lowering the gun slowly and holstering it quickly. The voice in the back of my mind chanted, _Trap. Trap. Motherfucking trap._ But I felt compelled to unsheathe the knife. This was something I hadn't done before – a slow intimate death. My hands shook slightly. I drew the clean blade of the machete and took a step toward him. When I was close enough to draw the knife across his neck, I grabbed his hair to keep his head still. I could see his reflection in the glass of an old framed photograph. His eyes were closed. I was both impressed and envious. I prepared myself to cut, tensing my arm.

"He will be glad you are returning…" the man said a second before the blade cut through his vocal cords, larynx, and jugular. Blood splattered the framed photo and hid his reflection. I let him crumple at my feet. In almost an afterthought I supposed I should have asked his name.

Methodically, I wiped the blood off the machete on his overalls. I looked down at him and immediately felt wrong in every way possible. My hands shook again and I backed up against the furthest wall, sliding down to a sitting position. Killing shouldn't be like that. Killing felt like winning. It had been that way on the island, if I didn't kill I would die; I would lose. This felt like a hollow victory, I thought about how I'd felt leaving the island. How much I despised what I'd done. How much I despised myself for it.

_It is alright, Jason._ Citra said from behind me, I thought I could feel her hand on my shoulder. _You are strong. A warrior. You gave him a merciful, honorable death. It was more than he deserved for what he's done. Now get up, Jason. Come back to us._

On shaky legs I stood and locked the door to the office. I changed into my jump suit. I pulled it over my boots, dark heavy cargo pants, and windbreaker. I took my goggles and pulled them up to my forehead then strapped the parachute to my back.

I opened the office door to the bright afternoon light and made my way toward the hanger. The plane was on the runway, both large engines running smoothly. Luckily it was facing away from the hanger, my position hidden from the cockpit. The lone mechanic was crouching at a faucet, near the large open hanger door. He was washing grease from his hands. I held the gun in my right hand and approached, making sure he couldn't see the Berretta.

He looked up and squinted at me. "Your friends are not here?"

"No," I said. "Is the plane ready to go?"

"Plane and pilots are ready. They are in the cabin, waiting," he nodded to the plane and stood. I looked at his arm; there was no tattoo. I shifted to my right and shot him point blank in the forehead (suggested visual of misted blood splatter?). I wasn't using a silencer but the noise of the plane engine muffled the gunshot.

I headed toward the plane. The large hatch under the left wing was open. I stepped in and pulled the door shut behind me. Both pilots had been looking over their instruments and startled when the hatch banged closed. Before either could move, I raised the gun and approached.

"Take off," I shouted over the noise. "You fly me over Rook Islands and I won't shoot you."

The pilots exchanged quick glances before one gave a nod and said something I couldn't hear over the din of the engine. I approached them and stayed standing as the plane began to roll down the runway. I watched the instruments on their control panels flicker and needles bob and sway. I found the altimeter and made a note of keeping my eyes on it. Best to know if I was really jumping at five thousand feet.

Taking off nearly knocked me back and ripped the gun from my hand. I removed my finger from the trigger and held tightly to the overhead railing with my free hand. It was a rough take off. Too rough. The men were watching me and I steadied the gun.

"No funny shit," I said. "I know what the Rook Islands look like and I can read your altimeter. Don't try anything stupid. I also know you can fly this plane with only one pilot." Another look passed between them and they nodded again.

_My, my, Jason,_ the voice laughed. _You are doing so well. You're so fucking close, my friend, so close. _

I stood there for nearly an hour, my arm grew tired and I cautiously switched the gun to my other hand before grabbing the rail for more support. Even before one of the pilots gestured out the window I recognized the outline of Rook dawning on the horizon.

I let out a breath, "Take us up five thousand feet."

I watched the altimeter's needle over at three, then four, then, finally, five thousand.

"Good," I shouted. I began to shuffle back, toward the large door near the left wing. I kept my gun trained on the pilots and backed away. I could see the green hills of Rook approaching through the cockpit window. The plane stayed level as I reached the door and kicked a latch, opening it.

Both pilots were leaning out, looking at me. I pulled the goggles over my eyes, maintaining my hold on the gun. I aimed it as I inched against the wind, toward the opening.

The sound of the engine was deafening as I put my finger against the trigger. My first shot missed the pilot on the right and hit a glass panel. The second shot hit the pilot on the left in the shoulder. I emptied the other seven shots in the clip into the controls, watching them smoke, spark, and sputter. The uninjured pilot was flailing wildly as he tried to take off his seat belt. I threw myself from the hatch as the plane began to lose altitude.

As I fell, the plane began to spiral, the left wing swung uncomfortably close to me, missing my legs by inches. It veered and plummeted to the north, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake. I watched it as I counted the seconds till I pulled the 'chute. At ten seconds, the plane hit the grassy side of a hill and exploded on impact. In awe, I watched a fireball roll up toward the sky. I nearly missed pulling my chute at the fifteenth second. I felt the chute eject and catch perfectly, my body hanging upright. I felt something release itself from my very core. I looked over the rolling green hills of Rook. I was light and free. I was back, it felt like coming home.

Best of all, the Pirates would not expect me for a few more hours. If they didn't see the crash, they would be looking for a group of naïve tourists, not a skilled hunter. If they'd seen the plane hit and explode, they wouldn't know I was the one who'd jumped. If they came looking for a survivor, it wouldn't be Jason Brody they were expecting. I smiled in the sun and closed my eyes as a draft pulled me closer to the shoreline.

Landing was easier than I expected. I had let myself drift toward a white beach. My feet caught in the sand as I came down lightly. I stumbled and ended up on my hands and knees. I took a deep breath. I could smell the clean ocean air and smoke from the downed plane. It took me a second to struggle out of the chute and jump suit. I left my discarded chute on the beach and reattached the machete to my belt.

I closed my eyes, taking in the sounds of birds and rustling leaves. I missed this. Cars, traffic, other people's televisions would keep me up at night in the city. I could hear everything, smell the rot from other people's trashcans, feel the eyes of the men and women I passed on the street linger on me. Sometimes, when I felt particularly bad, I could feel them judge me – like they knew about the islands and all I had done… But here, I was free. I was a savior to the Rakyat people.

I heard a twig snap a second before a bullet from an AK-47 ripped into the pristine, white sand behind me. I spun on the spot and reached for my machete and regretted the bullets I'd spent on the plane's cockpit. The fine sand was impeding my movement. I drew the blade and dropped into a crouch.

"Jason Brody!" It was the voice of Dennis Rogers. He and several Rakyat warriors were immerging from where the thicker forest met sand. He looked toward my discarded chute and suit. "Leaving your trash for others to clean up, as per your usual selfish ways. I do not want to say it's good to see you, Jason, but you can provide the Rakyat one last honor, so I must welcome you…" He spread his arms and chuckled. "Welcome back to Rook Island, my old friend!"


	3. Chapter Three: The Rakyat

A/N: Alrighty, the moment we've all been waiting for! But before that, a big thanks to my friend FalconPunch, for Beta-ing chapters 1 and 2. This current chapter has been posted without Falcon's help. It will be updated soon. For now, enjoy. :)

* * *

**HEAD OF THE GIANT**

**Chapter Three: The Rakyat**

_"I don't know what you mean by 'glory,' " Alice said._

_Humpty Dumpty smiled contemptuously. "Of course you don't—till I tell you. I meant 'there's a nice knock-down argument for you!' "_

_"But 'glory' doesn't mean 'a nice knock-down argument'," Alice objected._

_"When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, "it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less."_

Dennis and I and not parted on the best of terms. I had last seen him bent over Citra's body as my friends and I fled the Temple. I hadn't given much thought as to what he might have done after we left. He once said he'd been raised in the presence of great generals. He was a born leader; I knew that for sure. The Rakyat respected him. I supposed it was only natural that they would accept him as their new king since Citra had been killed. I wondered how he explained it.

_If you had stayed Jason,_ Citra whispered. _Those men with the guns would be yours to command. Not his. Do not trust him, Jason._

"Honor, huh?" I said as I looked up and down the beachside; it was a terrible position. The open sea was to my back, while small planks of driftwood dotted the beach to my right and left. There was no cover and running to the tree line would only be slow in the sand. I stood up and visibly sheathed the machete. "What exactly do you mean, Dennis?" I took a step forward; the Rakyat did not lower their guns. I walked warily until I was nearly and arms length away. The AKs were trained on my chest.

"Jason," Dennis said. "A lot has changed since you abandoned us."

I felt a spike of anger. "I didn't _abandon_ you. You threatened my friends. You drugged me and wanted me to _kill_ them!"

"They were your final test, Jason," Dennis said shaking his head. "You would have received the final tatau. You would be complete."

"You never told me I would have to kill the people I loved to become your king," I hissed. My hand was inching toward the machete.

Dennis laughed. "I never said you would be king, Jason. Citra wanted an heir. And she, against my judgment, chose you." I didn't exactly grasp what he meant but he continued. "She only ever saw you as a warrior, Jason. Me," he tapped his chest. "She saw me as a man."

I wasn't entirely sure what he was saying but my anger flared. "Fuck you, Dennis, you killed her!"

"No, Jason, you did it. You caused her death!"

I should have expected the fist to my face. Dennis hit solid. I stumbled back and was too distracted by the pain to stop two Rakyat from grabbing my arms and forcing me to my knees. Dennis looked down at me with venom in his eyes I hadn't seen before. He held my gaze and I was slowly filled with dread. When he looked away he nodded to one of the Rakyat. "Prepare the final tatau."

I knew what was about to happen when a stocky man marched toward me and raised the butt of his rifle. I tried to shrug away but there were two men behind me, holding my shoulders and wrists. The butt made solid contact with my temple and I blacked out.

* * *

I was jolted awake when the truck I was being transported in hit a bump and effectively bounced my skull against the metal bed. I rolled and realized my wrists where bound behind me. I was in the back of a large truck with six other men. They'd thrown me to the floor, taking the wooden seats that were fitted to the sides of the truck bed for themselves.

Dennis prodded me with a military issue combat boot. I should have noticed he'd abandoned the sandals military issue fatigues when I'd first seen him. He had the same green jacket bearing a U.S. Sargent's emblem. He looked down at me through his thick glasses.

"Are you with us, Jason?" I was pulled up and pushed to across from Dennis, in between two large warriors. "We are traveling to the temple." Dennis said. "There are a few matters we must attend to first."

My head felt heavy. He continued and gestured to the buildings beginning to appear through the trees, "Welcome back to Amanaki Village."

The settlement wasn't what I remembered. Chain-linked fences with barbed wires now encircled the compound. There were men at the gate when our truck rolled in, they waved to Dennis and he gestured back to them. They carried M9s. Watchtowers had also been erected at four points around the village, I saw men I assumed were snipers keeping watch. I didn't see any of the old villagers. There were many Rakyat men, though. A large group was going through what looked like a meticulous sets of knife fighting techniques with their machetes. There was also another large group, most of them bandaged and bloody. These men gathered under the awnings the villagers had used for feasts. They sat and played cards or slept on thin blankets.

"War has come to Amanaki," Dennis said, watching me. "The Pirates are less of a threat, though they still attack on occasion. The Privateers are more dangerous. They have control over the south island and the south sea. They import weapons and supplies easily and make it difficult for us to bring in our own shipments."

"When did all of this begin?" I asked. This was not the Island I thought I was returning to.

"Three, maybe four, months ago," Dennis said. "The Pirate presence was reduced thanks to your effort, however they seemed to have gained a leader. They are organized again. They control a few outposts in the north. The Privateers were something we did not expect, especially after you killed Hoyt. There seems to be a small group of men who want to continue Hoyt's work. They began the mining again. But mostly the drugs are what they transport. They attempted to join with the Pirates, I am told, but negotiations, how do you say, fell through. Nevertheless, the Privateers have more firepower than us, perhaps even more than the Pirates."

"This isn't what I expected," I said, then: "I can help you take back your Island. Like before."

"No, Jason," Dennis said and smiled slightly. "We do not need you for such a task. I'm sure you could put a small dent in their presence but what the Rakyat need is to defeat these outside threats with their own blood and sweat. Many will die. We know that. It has been too long since the Rakyat took control of our own fate. Victory or death."

The truck pulled to a stop and Dennis stood. He looked down. "I do not think they would trust you, Jason. You, after all, caused the death of their queen. You ended the Talugmai bloodline."

He jumped from the truck before I could retort. I watched him leave; a familiar anger was welling in my gut. As he moved further and further toward a group of men circled around a table, a woman – the first I'd seen in the village- approached the truck. She was wearing light blue clothing but there were patches of blood on top of her thighs and sleeves. She was probably a medic or healer of some kind. She stopped when she could see my eyes clearly. She simply looked at me, then her face contorted furiously and she spat on the ground. Angrily she turned away with rigid shoulders and returned to the overhangs, where the injured men were resting. I watched her, not sure how I should react. However Dennis had twisted the story of Citra's death, it seemed to have turned the native populace against me.

I leaned back against the truck bed and waited.

It took an hour or so but the convoy began to move again. Dennis did not join me in the back of the truck. I was sentenced to a silent, uncomfortable ride with a group of battle weary Rakyat. Some men were asleep as the truck roughly drove along a road I realized lead to Citra's temple. I felt a spike of apprehension. I didn't like the temple. It was where she had died and where I'd been asked to choose. I'd dreamt about it a few times. I'd dreamt about what would have happened if I had stayed with her. None of those dreams ended well. The truck skidded to a stop and the Rakyat who'd previously slept awoke. I was grabbed and lead from the vehicle.

They lead me into what was the first courtyard of the temple. This was the place I had first met Citra. The large tree stood in the center of the court, looking as if it had been there since the islands surfaced. But it was different somehow; everything held a foreboding air. The stone seemed darker, colder; even the firelight didn't provide warmth. The tree stretched its branches out above the courtyard walls, but instead of offering shade it seemed to drown the earth below it in darkness.

The man behind me held my shoulder tightly and led me further inside the ominous structure. I tried to wriggle my wrists and twist out of the binds. The man must have felt my muscle movements because he let go of my shoulder and cuffed the back of my head. "Don't even try," he warned.

We entered a second courtyard, passing the stone carvings depicting the northern warrior and the giant. The ethereal glow and magic they had held when I first saw them was lost. The beheaded giant stared back, it's mouth twisted in a foul grin.

Past the carvings was an opening leading outward and across the stone bridge containing many stairs. I was pushed forward with the business end of an assault rifle. Dennis was making his way down from the small lotus pond that resided at the end of the many steps. I met him at the midsection of the bridge.

"Welcome, Jason," Dennis said as I approached.

"What happened to this place?" I asked, looking around again.

"The Temple of Citra becomes what it needs to be. Once it was her home, now, it is her mausoleum. Beneath the great tree of life we have buried her. She will stay with this temple, this island, forever. Ever our queen."

"Poetic," I said and pulled at my bonds again. The man had released his hand from my shoulder.

"Do you really feel no remorse for what you have done?" Dennis asked and walked toward me. "You're actions took the life of our Queen. She professed her love, her dying wish, and still you do not honor her nor cherish the gift she bestowed upon you. You, Jason, are selfish, like all the American men I have met. You only think of yourself. Of _your_ needs. Citra saved you and you led her to her death."

"No, you killed her. You stabbed her, you motherfucker. I had nothing to do with _that_!" I hissed out my words angrily.

"Enough," Dennis said sternly. "Jason, you must honor our Queen. Even in death I can hear her calling for you. Your blood." He gestured to the lotus pond. In the center, where a worn altar had been, a different dais stood. It was made from the same aged stone as the courtyard walls but it showed signs of recent movement –it had been carried from a mossy resting place to the clean stone floor of the Temple. I couldn't figure out what the black veins that ran over and through it were, maybe some sort of onyx or dark stone ore that permeated the softer, more malleable sandstone? It shined in the firelight, so, maybe oil? I wondered vaguely if that's what maid this new altar so special.

"We have tried many times to appease her thirst. Many of our enemies have met their fates here, but their blood does not please Citra. She wants your death, Jason."

It didn't dawn on me as much as hit me like a well aimed sledgehammer.

"You're fucking insane," I said half outraged, half afraid. "Fucking human sacrifice? Really?"

"Citra's final wish was that you should never leave her. This is the only way, Jason. You will be bled for the island. You're blood will flow into the water. The trees and the grass will feast and grow above our beautiful leader's grave. The trees will grow and bear fruit. You will forever be with the Rakyat. Jason, this is what she has asked for. I cannot deny her final wish."

"Dennis!" I shouted as two large Rakyat men drew me away from him. They were not taking me to the altar yet thankfully. "Dennis, his isn't right! Dennis! Everything I did was for Citra and the Rakyat! Wasn't it enough? All the men I killed? All those lives weren't enough!"

"Our Queen desired an heir, Jason. After her… death and your betrayal, this is the only way. A child will be born, his mother fed from the fruit of our jungle and he will bring honor and victory to our people. The Rakyat must have their King."

"Aren't you a King now?" I shouted, as I was pulled closer. "You're the leader now, Dennis! You don't have to do this! Dennis, please!"

"You have the right to take a life, Jason, you know I have the right to take yours."

"That's not… oh, fuck you, Dennis! You killed her! You stabbed her, you motherfucker! Killing me won't make this any better! Killing me won't bring her back!"

"I know, Jason. But I will admit, I get some satisfaction from it."

"Fuck you! You stupid delusional fuck!"

I was led back toward the second courtyard. A large group had gathered in the grass. There were men, women, and some children. I wondered if they always watched when someone was about to be killed. Would Dennis lead them across the bridge and have them all stand around the little pond? The few children were young, ranging from infants to prepubescent teens. I wanted to laugh when I thought of my mother standing here, watching someone bleed out. She'd banned me from playing M rated games and watching R rated movies when I was older than most of the children here.

I did laugh then, frantically, desperately. Two men had been standing at either side of me. They looked startled and wary as I began to laugh harder, my eyes nearly watering. I thought of all the complaints she made when I'd let Riley play Modern Warfare. She'd always been against the idea of Grant joining the Army… but how else was he going to get decent job training. He'd spent most of his time in high school taking care of Riley and I. I thought about the night my mother had seen Grant, Riley and I off, before we met Daisy, Lisa, Oliver and Keith. She told us to come back safe. I thought I might vomit. The laughing had stopped and I was heaving in deep breaths, trying to keep myself from throwing up.

The start of drumbeats snapped me out of my stupor. The familiar rhythm reminded me of the time I'd awoken to find Citra straddling me, when I'd declared I would bring honor and glory to the Rakyat people. I supposed that's what I was doing now by dying. This was not what I expected. This is not what I had planned. _You're not leaving, Jason, _Buck was laughing in my right ear, like he was standing over my shoulder.

"People of Rook!" Dennis shouted from somewhere behind me. I tried to turn but a warrior held me still. "Warriors of the Rakyat! Jason Brody has returned to us!" There was a loud cheer from the crowd. Dennis walked past me and held the ancient Chinese blade above his head. "As per our beautiful queen's last wish, he will stay with us forever! His blood will be our blood! Our children will inherit his strength! Our warriors, his skill! He will bleed for us!" There was another cheer, louder this time.

"No!" I shouted against the growing cheering and applauding. "No! Dennis killed Citra! This is not what she wanted! She never asked for my death!"

Dennis turned to me and smiled almost kindly. "Have you heard of 'Ling Chi', Jason? It is Mandarin for 'Lingering Death'." Dennis faced me completely. "The ancient Chinese who enslaved our people used this form of torture for execution. You simply cut away at a person, slowly, chunk by chunk, over an extended period of time. These tortures could go on for days, months even, if the administrator knew how to stay the blood flow and keep out infection."

"Is that what you're going to fucking do to me, Dennis?" I spat, part of me terrified. "You sick fuck!"

"I think it is ironic you brought us this relic." Dennis turned the knife in his hands inspecting it. "It is time it was put to proper use. This blade, you see how it curves? It was also used for filleting, Jason, not just stabbing or gouging. For the Ling Chi."

Dennis turned to the crowd once more. "Ling Chi!" He shouted raising the blade.

"Ling Chi!" The shouted back. There were cheers.

"For Citra!" Dennis shouted again.

"Citra! Citra! Citra!" The mass chanted.

I was taken across the bridge and forced onto my back, the stone altar below me. My hands had been unbound and retied, this time pulled to either side of the rectangular stone. My feet were also bound in a similar fashion. I looked around wildly and realized the black veins were not stone but dried blood, layers and layers of blood that had run from where I lay, down through the rock, and into the stone floor and, deeper, into the soil of the island.

Buck's voice again, this time in my other ear. _This is some fucked up foreplay, eh? Bet that crazy bitch would have really been into this shit._ I could hear him laughing in the distance.

I writhed and swore trying to scratch, kick, or bite. To do anything that might give me a chance to slip a bond and escape. I didn't know how long I was tied down, struggling, but when I stopped I was tired. My arms and legs were sore and my back was rubbed raw against the stone. I dimly noticed the sun had moved below the horizon and shadows were now being cast by the torchlight.

"Accept your death with dignity," Dennis said. "I am starting with the Tatau, the only way to kill you is to erase it completely."

I felt him grab my left wrist and begin to draw the blade across my lower arm. I cried out as the blade dug through the nerves of my forearm. Tatau. He was starting high, near the crook of my elbow. He had moved the blade and inch or two further, taking a large chunk of flesh out of my arm. It was deliberately slow and I could see small dots of white flash before my eyes. I wanted more than anything to hear someone, anyone over the sounds of the crowd and my own screams. Dennis was keeping the knife level, drawing it further down my arm. I was writhing against my bonds again. The rope was burning my other wrist and chaffing me to the point of blood.

I screamed again and only stopped when I realized Dennis had taken a large chunk of flesh off my arm. He was not looking toward me, but instead shouting at a young warrior who'd come running through the crowd. The young man was animatedly gesturing, pointing behind him. The pain from my exposed nerves was excruciating but I tried my hardest to catch what the warrior was saying.

"…From the north… a group of… gun… killed some of our sentries…!" His frantic words didn't make sense, but Dennis whirled and looked to the men around him.

"We are under attack!" He yelled and people within the crowd shrieked. "Women and children to safety! Go across the bridge and to the catacombs bellow!" There was a mad rushing of feet. "Men! Guns! They are approaching from the road! Go! Go!" A large group of Rakyat warriors charged toward the entrance of the temple.

"You two," Dennis nodded to the men next to me. "Take Brody!" I was immediately released and pulled to my feet. I wanted to stop the blood from flowing down my arm but resting anything against the raw nerves made my vision swim. One warrior grabbed my uninjured arm and we followed Dennis onto the bridge.

"We will continue…" But before Dennis finished there was a great rumbling and the ground shifted. Dennis staggered and grabbed a near by stone railing for support.

Citra's temple was built in three sections. The front of the temple rested on the island's main landmass while the lotus pond was on the small islet. Both of these elements were connected by the bridge. The middle section, where Dennis and I were, was not supported by anything. It hung over the sea. Thousands of years and the constant beating of waves had hollowed it out, creating a natural bridge from the island to the islet. Now someone was destroying that unsupported area. I could feel multiple detonations shake the ground beneath me.

Dennis looked around wildly. He looked toward the entrance of the Temple, where the backs of his men were retreating from view. I could see his mouth form a single word: "No."

The world around me exploded an instant later.

I was falling backward. I could hear a great creaking as the boulders under the bridge gave way. I renewed my efforts to escape, adrenaline numbing the pain of exposed nerves. I pushed one of my captors aside with my shoulder, knocking him from the falling structure. The other man grabbed for me and Dennis made a lunge for my chest with the knife but the rock underneath my feet blessedly collapsed. I literally slipped through their hands. I saw Dennis move toward the safety of solid ground. His form disappeared as he turned to flee the Temple. From somewhere below me I heard the sound of a rocket launcher fire. I watched a bright rocket flame past me, leaving a trail of smoke in the dying light. It missed the structure I'd fallen from and exploded in a bright burst, illuminating the scene above me.

My back hit what felt like a solid, concrete surface. I felt the water bite into my sore skin. I sunk for an instant, almost too shocked by the sudden chill, but the shadow of a looming piece of debris appeared above me and I dove deeper, swimming hard to avoid being pulled under. My arms and legs were already weak, but I broke the surface and took deep, grateful, breaths. I'd made it far enough out to escape from being crushed.

I treaded water turning myself to see the rest of the Temple's middle courtyard fall into the sea. I felt a hollow sort of happiness as a large section of ancient steps cracked and toppled off. I was pushed back and under the water by the force of its impact. I struggled to surface, my arms were beginning to cramp in the cold ocean water. I knew I would need to swim much further to get ashore.

A hand grabbed my right arm and I felt myself being pulled up against dark plastic. I squinted at my rescuer but the dim light obscured his face.

I was pulled into the boat and landed like a drowned animal, shivering and sputtering. There were two men in the craft. Both were wearing dark colors I couldn't distinguish in the lack of light. I thought quickly about what Dennis had told me. _Pirates or Privateers?_

"I'm glad that worked," said one man, furthest from me. "That was the last of our C4 and there are no more rockets."

"Fucker! Forget about that," shouted another. "Look at his arm, we can't let this shithead die. Give me some gauze or cloth!" They began to stop the blood with the hem of someone's shirt.

"Sharks!" Someone cried from further away. Another boat, perhaps?

I heard shouts from the water. Two Rakyat had fallen into the ocean with me when the structure collapsed. I heard men shouting in the native tongue before they were silenced, swallowed by the sea or the great whites that dwelled within it. I didn't want to think about it.

Dennis had most likely escaped. I imagined him standing in front of the remaining Rakyat, announcing that Jason Brody was the cause of the destruction at the Temple. Dennis would turn this attack in his favor, like he had Citra's death. I wasn't yet sure if it was true denial or political ploy. As the boat started I realized I didn't care. Either way, the results would be the same.

A rough sack was placed over my head and my hands were bound in front of me. I didn't have much strength left. I struggled initially and then simply sat back as I felt the boat start and gain speed. The men didn't say much and I could hear the sound of two or three more motors if I really tried.

"Up, Brody," said the man who'd treated my wounds. I caught the slight hint of a familiar accent and I thought sourly, _Pirates then._

I was pulled to my feet and led blindly onto old, creaking docks and then up a sloping road. I heard the sound of more men around me. There could have been hundreds for all I knew; their chattering was becoming a dull hum. I could smell fires and see bright patches of light through the cloth. I didn't know if the Pirates still used Vaas Camp as a base, but the route I was being lead along seemed familiar, as if I'd walked it once before. If we were in the camp, I was being lead into the center courtyard, in front of the warehouse –like structure where I'd stabbed and killed Vaas.

I was stopped suddenly and the backs of my knees were kicked in, forcing me to kneel. I heard the sound of men talking pitter away. The entire group had fallen silent, as if waiting for something. The fires around me cracked like live wires.

"We have him!" The man at my side shouted. "We have Snow White!"

There was no cheering from the men around me. I heard the sound of footsteps on wood approaching. There was a jingling and rustling of clothing as someone jumped from a wooden deck and then I could hear the sound of boots on dry ground. The man, I assumed it was a man, stopped in front of me. The group seemed to hold their breath as he grabbed the front of the sack and some of my loose hair, pulling. I gritted my teeth and squinted against the sudden brightness.

"Hello, Jason. I missed you."

I thought the voice had been in my mind but as my eyes adjusted, the man in front of me became a reality. I looked back at him. _Why won't you fucking die!_ I heard my own voice shriek but no sound came from my mouth. That other voice in my head was hysterical, pealing laugher only I could hear was ringing off the building walls like church bells, engulfing me.

Out loud I finally said, "I _killed_ you."


	4. Chapter Four: Bad Trip

A/N: Alrighty, another chapter. Thanks for all the possitive feedback, I'm really glad you guys are enjoying the fic. This is one of my favorite chapters so far, Vaas is super fun (and a bit scary) to write. :)

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**HEAD OF THE GIANT**

**Chapter Four: Bad Trip**

_"I can't believe that!" said Alice.  
"Can't you?" the Queen said in a pitying tone. "Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes."  
Alice laughed. "There's no use trying," she said: "one __can't__ believe impossible things."  
"I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. __Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.__"_

"_I killed you_," I said again.

"You _tried_," Vaas said like he was correcting a math problem. "It was a very good try, too. Applaudable, right?" He looked around at his men and raised his hands. "A round of applause for Jason Brody, the man who almost killed Vaas Montenegro!" There was hesitant clapping from the large circle of pirates. "Good job, Jason. Good job. You've made things much easier for me now that Hoyt and my sister are gone. But you still have a mess to clean up. A big fucking mess, hermano." He leaned in closer and I could smell his breath. He needed a fucking mint.

"Didn't anyone every tell you not to run into an enemy base high off your ass. You come in, screaming for blood. Kill a shit load of my men and then stab me. Stab me in the fucking stomach. Hurt like a fucker, too, Jason. I was really pissed about that. Every time I move, try to eat, take a shit, get off, I hurt and I think about you. But I got it right, didn't I?" Vaas put is hands on both of my shoulders and leaned in even closer. "I walked away. The second time in my life and the hardest thing I have ever fucking done… just walk away. Put it all behind me… water under the bridge and all that shit.

"You stab me and all I can think is: why won't this skinny, Cali, motherfucking gringo die? Some things are just not meant to be, I guess. It's not like I am a fucking crazy, I told you. But I was getting there, you know. Right at the edge where you fall off and never claw back out. All I wanted was your fucking head on my wall, but I had to be stronger than that! I had to fucking fight for this, Jason. You know how fucking hard that is? You: bleeding out on the pavement. Me: a knife in my gut. But I had guns and a few guys left. I looked down and I thought: I can fucking end this right now. Right here. And I knew. I just knew. I remembered I thought the same thing when I burnt that hotel, when I kicked you off that fucking cliff, when I shot you in the chest and threw you in that pit. If fucking fire, water, and death itself won't take you than I have no right to try. So I walked the fuck away, right? And now, you're back, Jason, and I'm wondering why that is?"

This was something I hesitated to answer. Part of me still didn't know why I was here. It was the same part that raged against the jungle, the violence, and the death. Another part, the stronger one, knew that I hadn't been able to readjust to civilian life. There was an autonomy to the Island that no money or luxury could by. I wanted glory and power. I wanted to win but I couldn't, and wouldn't, explain myself.

Instead I said, "I came here to kill the men who hurt my friends and I want what Citra promised: the freedom to do it."

Vaas laughed in my face. He was so hysterical he let go of my shoulders and had to support himself, hands on knees. "Freedom," Vaas echoed. "Fucking freedom. You come from the land of the free, hermano. Oh, fuck, she got in your white little head good didn't she? What did she promise? Glory, power, pussy? Did she tell you that you were her warrior, the people's savior? Did she fucking tell you that you were taking _my_ place?"

He suddenly stopped laughing and turned vicious, like a rabid dog. "Citra was using you, motherfucker! You were her gun! She points, you shoot. Get that? Fucking! Gun! Did she say 'Freedom', Jason? Or were you just fucking hearing what you wanted, 'cause she offered me something different after I killed for her. She offered me honor and all that meant was a fucking painful death. It was die with honor or live to die slowly, alone, in shame! Alone! Like I even had to fucking think! Who the fuck, I mean, really… Who the fuck wants to die for honor! It's the pain that keeps you alive, Jason. You and me, we both chose the pain!" He knelt again, too close for comfort.

"That, my friend, is why I respect you." He leaned in, voice low as if he were whispering. "You and me chose pain."

"Fuck you!" I ground out from between my clenched teeth and tried to head-butt him. I missed horribly and I pulled furiously at the rope binding my wrists. "Fuck you, fuck you!"

"No, no, Jason, be fucking polite now. I'm not going to kill you," Vaas chided, chuckling. "I'm going to use you, Jason. Just like everyone else on this island. Citra. The FBI douche. Hoyt played you but he's too much of a fucktard to see your real potential. Jason… you are a tool to be honed. A gun. We can upgrade you. Give you a new paint job. But in the end we're gonna take you out to play." Vaas smiled widely. "Sounds like fun, right?"

"I'll never work for you, Vaas!" I seethed and writhed. "You better kill me now motherfucker or I'll find some way to stab you through the fucking heart!"

"See this," Vaas looked to his men. "This is the Jason Brody I want. Stay angry, Jason, remember this feeling, cause you're going to need it soon." Vaas stood up and kicked me in the ribs, I felt a stabbing pain and I gasped for breath. "Jason, you're not going to kill me. No, no, I'm going to have you kill a lot of other motherfuckers first. Then, maybe, we can give the knife fight another go. But first, Jason, first, you're going to be my trump card, my ace. If you haven't noticed, there's a full-scale war going on. And it's not just that fuck Dennis Rodgers. There are a lot of men from Hoyt's old Privateers. They were stuck here after you fucked up their airfield. Some fuckers decided to stay and try to take over." Vaas crouched down again. "And guess who the Rakyat and the Privateers want dead. Snow. Fucking. White. _You_." He lightly poked the top of my nose with his handgun on the last word. "If you even want to make it five minutes on the Island, Jason, you're gonna have to choose a side. And right now... Well, right now, hermano, we're the only one's taking in new blood."

He stood and a pirate behind me pulled me along with him. There was a quick press of cold hands and the sound of rope being cut before my arms were freed.

"And if I say no?" I rubbed my wrists.

"Then I call some of my guys in Los Angeles and your brother's ambulance is bombed, the actress girl gets to be the next fucking Black Delilah, and I tell the really sick fuckers to invade your nice, beachfront Santa Monica home and fuck your mother. True mother fuckers, get it…" He laughed to himself.

"You're bluffing," I said, swallowing against the lump forming in my throat.

"I think you know I don't fucking bullshit," Vaas said. "But if you want some proof, I can call them right now..." He turned to walk up the ramp to his building but stopped and turned back toward me. "I almost forgot to mention, Jason, if anything bad happens to me. Let's say… If I wake up with a knife in my chest or some Privateer motherfucker blows my head open… well, those men in Los Angeles get a call from a known associate of mine and they go to work on your loved ones. I'm the only one keeping your precious loved ones safe, Jason. Me. As of right now, I am your fucking everything!"

"You think I care about them!" I shouted. It was the only thing I could think to do. "I left them, Vaas. I left them to come back here!"

He chuckled and gave me a manic grin. "Then fucking come at me bro. Come on, Jason, grab a fucking knife." He nodded to a taller man with a bandana over his mouth and aviators. "Carlos, give him your machete." The man drew his blade and threw it on the ground at my feet. Vaas spread his arms wide. "One free shot, Jason. Fucking stab me through the fucking heart, you motherfucker! Stab me! Come on!"

Doubt was flashing through my mind. I took a step forward but didn't move to pick up the machete. Could I risk them - Riley, Liza, my mom? I felt my hands clench in rage.

_They make you weak!_ I heard Citra wail. _They make you weak, Jason!_

Vaas moved like a viper. He was a few feet away but before I could react he'd grabbed the front of my shirt and slammed my full weight against the wall behind me. I felt the breath leave my chest. A hand grabbed my balls through the front of my pants. "That's right you chickenfuck, these fuckers are mine. I say fucking jump, you ask me which fucking cliff. Got it motherfucker?" He squeezed and I tried not to cry out. "Got it!"

"I got it," I said, my voice an octave higher than usual. He squeezed once more and I thought something might burst. "Fuck! I got it, Vaas."

"Good." Vaas let go and I had to lean hard against the wall to support myself. "Carlos!" Vaas called as he walked up the ramp to what I suspected was _his_ building. "Get him fucking cleaned up. He looks like shit."

"Yeah, no problem," the aviator wearing man said. He turned to me. "Don't fucking make this difficult, Brody."

I didn't feel like fighting through the hundred or so men in the camp so I nodded and followed Carlos to a smaller building. It turned out to be a medical office of sorts. There were boxes of different supplies, bandages, gauze, some empty pill bottles, but no needles I noted. There were a couple of folding chairs in a corner. They were set up next to a weapons crate that had been converted into a makeshift table or bed of some kind.

"Sit down," Carlos said. He'd pulled down the bandanna and taken off the sunglasses. He motioned lazily toward the weapons crate.

I sat and watched him rummage through some of the boxes, bringing back some gauze and a small tube of salve. He pulled a flask from his own back pocket and set all the supplies down on the empty chair.

"I'm gonna have to clean that wound," he said. He pored clear liquid from the container onto a gauze pad. "We don't have any antiseptics, some fuckers decided to drink them a few days ago. Vodka works well though. We don't have any painkillers either. No morphine. Basically if you can get a high off of it, it ain't here."

"Okay," I said and gritted my teeth as he pulled the dirty cloth from my left arm. I looked down at the wound. Dennis had taken a bite sized chuck of flesh from my forearm. He had taken part of the Tatau as well. I saw the heron symbol, which was now missing its wings. The wound began to bleed more profusely and I looked rest of me was covered in dirt and sand. Water was beginning to dry from my clothes but patches of soil from when I knelt or was slammed into the wall remained. There were more bruises and small cuts than I could count. I could feel the salt from the ocean rubbing in the wounds. The adrenaline must have been wearing off. I was a mess and I now felt it.

"We haven't been able to get any other shipments," Carlos said as he dabbed at my arm. "The Privateers control the sea routes."

"Dennis said the same," I winced. Carlos was being unusually civil. I'd expected a beating or at least harsh words.

I looked at him. If I'd seen him six months ago I probably wouldn't have been able to distinguish him from any other pirate. He was young, maybe late twenties, with a plain face, darkly tanned skin, and darker eyes.

"What does Vaas really want from me?" I asked.

"Not sure," Carlos continued cleaning. "Vaas is fucking unpredictable. You should accept the idea that he might decide to shoot you in the morning. But he talks about you a lot. Could be a good thing, but he might decide to kill you slowly. Who knows? He said he respected Hoyt once, the next day, he was trying to find a way to skin the bastard."

I felt like I had to ask. "Then why are you working for him? You seem more lucid than a lot of other guys."

"I'm well adjusted, but I've got my own load of shit to shovel," Carlos laughed a little but he didn't look away from his task. "Most of these guys are depraved sons of bitches. They want something they can only get from Vaas and this place. The really fucked up ones we put outside – on the main island – don't want to wake up with a machete in your chest over a game of cards. Most of the guys you killed were the fuck ups. Vaas keeps his main guys here. We get paid well, too. We can have whatever drugs we can import, women, boys if you like that kind of thing… Actually the drugs are becoming a problem. No shipments means no shipments. Guys are taking what ever they can get their hands on." Carlos did look up this time and met my eyes. "This whole fucking 'Operation Rescue Snow White' was about showing the men Vaas is still in charge. He can still get shit done. If he's got Jason Brody, kind of a living legend, bowing to him then he's still the shit."

"You said Vaas was unpredictable," I said, still thinking over what I'd learned.

Carlos nodded. "I never said he was a fucking idiot."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked. Carlos shrugged and began to apply a salve with a rolled pad of gauze.

"You're gonna be helping us out, so its good you know where you stand and what's at stake," he said as he finished and began to wrap strips of clean gauze around my arm. "Besides, Vaas has been rationing weed and I'm fucking sick of running through my supply in a few days."

"I see," I said and then asked, "Can he really send men to hurt my family?"

"Why couldn't he," Carlos said and finished dressing the wound. "You know he's got guys in Bangkok and Hoyt's operation had people everywhere. L.A. is a huge base of operation for human trafficking."

"Fucking lovely."

"Lift your arms, I gotta check your ribs. Vaas kicked you pretty hard." Carlos motioned for me to raise my arms. I did and he prodded my sides a few times. "Nothing feels broken. You seem to be breathing ok. Probably just bruised."

"Are you the resident medic?" I asked. "You probably get a lot of patients… with all the shit that goes down here."

"Not a real doctor or anything," Carlos stood up. "And anyone who can't hold a gun Vaas usually shoots. Not worth the medical supplies, you know? When you were with the Rakyat you killed most of the guys you fought so I didn't have much to do."

"And you're okay with me being, you know, previously with the Rakyat?"

"I'm chill," Carlos said with a grin. "But some of the guys had brothers out there, friends too. Other guys are pissed 'cause you killed guys who owed them money. I'd watch your back, but as long as Vaas says no one touches you, you're probably safe from about half the camp."

"I'm not very reassured."

"Not my job to reassure you," Carlos said. "Just fucking know there are a few guys who wouldn't mind taking a machete to your ass." Carlos stood and I followed. He put down the repackaged gauze and said, "By the way…" I turned and my jaw collided with a fist. I stumbled a little and put a hand to my mouth. He'd split my lower lip and a bruise was forming on the right side of my mouth. "You shot me in the shoulder when you tried to kill Vaas. Just a little payback."

"I thought you said you were chill or whatever," I said and sucked at the blood on my lip. "What the fuck man...?"

"Relax," Carlos said mildly. "Besides, I can't fucking have the other guys thinking I did you any favors. Especially the ones that want you dead. Just looking out for number one." He pointed at my arm. "I'll need to change that a few times a week to prevent infection and shit like that."

"Do I get to look forward to a fucking fist in the face every time?"

Carlos laughed lightly. "Don't give me a reason."

There was a breath of silence between us.

"So," I said hesitantly. "Where the fuck do I go now."

"Vaas wants you close by," Carlos said and walked toward the door. "He's in that building." He opened the door and pointed to the large warehouse-like structure. I'd suspected as much.

Apprehensively I left the safety of the medical building. I thought about running. High walls surrounded the compound on all sides. I hadn't seen what became of the buildings Vaas burned in his attempt to draw my out the last time I'd been here. There may have been a way, a crumbled wall or burnt out building, which I could use to flee. I knew the easiest exit was through the front, through the gates. There were also men all around me. I could hear some laughing, some shouting. Vaas camp was alive during the night and even the dim light provided by the hour wasn't enough to hide me from the eyes of the residents.

Then I thought about what Vaas had said, about the men outside the walls who wanted me dead. The last time I'd been here, I only faced the pirates. The Privateers had their own island and they only came north with Hoyt. If I were to leave the pirates, privateers, and Rakyat would hunt me down. I couldn't make contact with any of the gun shops without being seen by someone from one of the three factions. There were no safe zones like Amanaki. Everywhere I would go, I would have to run. I felt the tiredness in my bones and decided to press forward. I walked up the ramp, toward the red double doors.

A few men were gathered around a bonfire near the entrance. They were roasting some kind of bird over it on a metal rod. They watched me approach, their conversation halting. I could smell the roasting fowl and felt hungry. They were tense, I noticed, their hands were on pistols and machetes. I thought about Carlos' warning and made sure to keep my guard up as I passed. None of the men moved, they watched me as warily as I watched them. Once I was far enough away, I squared my shoulders and stepped into the darkness.

There were many shipping crates, stacked as they had been before. I looked to my left and recognized the doorway from which Vaas had ambushed me. The air wasn't full of weed or whatever had been burning that day. I headed for the opening, hoping he wasn't waiting to reenact that stabbing.

I cautiously made my way around the corner. The crazy lights weren't on and there was no tiger skewed with LED rods. The room was clear and clean. Like the entrance, it was filled with a few crates. There was a strange jumble of televisions, each stacked on one and other, but they only reflected my image as I passed them. I followed the dim light fixtures that hung above me. I thought about the visions I'd had when I'd last been in this room but nothing was recognizable.

I stepped through an old doorway and into the next room. It was more of a hangar than a room. The space was big enough to fit a couple of Daisy's boats. There were no more shipping crates pushed into corners, instead banners made of bed sheets were spray painted with graffiti hung from the high ceiling. Against the opposite wall there was a raised platform. Pipes had been bent down from the ceiling on the left and right most sides of the raised area. All around me wooden boxes, small crates, plastic chairs and a few actual benches had been arranged on the floor. Two rows of twelve had been arranged on either side of a single isle, like pews. I took a step forward and was reminded of the last church I'd been in. It had been at my father's funeral. The arrangement in front of me reminded me of a perverse attempt to recreate a holy interior.

I began to walk slowly toward the raised concrete platform on the furthest side of the room. There was no sound save the banners flapping against a light breeze let in through coverless windows. Stone steps led up to another jumble of televisions mounted on the wall. My footsteps echoes against the cold surface. There was a single chair - a simple plastic chair - in front of the blank screens. I felt a wave of nostalgia wash over me as I realized this was where I had tried to kill Vaas with the dagger. It was only now that I was seeing my surroundings for what they actually were. I couldn't make out any bloodstains in the dirt and darkness but I was sure I had stood here before.

A muffled sound caught my attention and a door opened to my left spilling red and purple light. A single figure stumbled out of the doorway and began to run toward me. I was immediately on guard. It wasn't dark enough to see who he or she was. I could tell by the size and shape that it wasn't Vaas. This person was thinner and taller. Their gate was wobbly and off kilter, like he or she was running on an injured leg. An animalistic scream rang out through the room and I felt a surge of adrenaline in my veins.

I reached for my machete but found it was gone. Carlos had sent me into the warehouse unarmed. I took a few steps back and squared off against this new threat. The man, I could now see flashes of his haggard face, reached for me with claw like hands. I sidestepped his lunge and managed to trip him. He went down with a cry and turned his head toward me while still on all fours. He shouted again, his cry something inhuman.

The man lunged again, faster, and caught the hem of my pants as I moved back. Long fingers dug into my leg and held tight. I was pulled off balance and landed gracelessly on my back. The man scrambled up my body, straddling me, and wrapped those fingers around my neck. I choked and he lifted my head only to bang it back down hard against the concrete. My vision went white before I hooked a leg around one of his. I grabbed at his arms and tried to get enough leverage to roll him over. My body weight and strength were superior and I succeeded. His grip loosened around my neck and I gasped and scrabbled to grab his head.

_Animal_, I thought. _This guy is an animal. _And then savagely: _Put him down! End this!_

I grabbed at hair, slamming his head into the concrete once, twice, enough times that his grip broke and I was able to push myself up and off of him. My breath was ragged and I stood on shaking legs. The adrenaline was back.

In the strange light from the doorway I could see that he was not a man at all, more of a boy, tall, and at one point, strong. I looked at the boy's face, at his eyes, which were blinking rapidly as blood pooled from his skull on the concrete. He was still breathing. I noticed how thin he was – underfed, malnourished – and his arms and legs were covered in scars. His throat was scarred as well. _His vocal cords,_ I thought. _He couldn't speak. He couldn't tell me why he was attacking, what was going on..._ Revulsion at what I had done hit me and I had to back up, feeling ill. Then, I thought, _would it have mattered?_

A slow applause came from the doorway. Vaas was casually leaning against the frame, silhouetted against red.

"That was beautiful, Jason."


	5. Chapter Five: Falling Into A Dream

A/N: Sorry for the delay, I ended up rewriting this chapter several times. I'm still not completely happy with it but I figure it's time to move on with the story.

I'm glad you guys are enjoying the fic. Thank you for all the feedback. :)

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**HEAD OF THE GIANT**

**Chapter Five: Falling Into a Dream**

_'It was much pleasanter at home,' thought poor Alice, 'when one wasn't always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits. I almost wish I hadn't gone down that rabbit-hole — and yet — and yet...__'_

The room was silent as Vaas walked toward me. My vision narrowed as I took in deep heaving breaths; I was still alert, still ready. Carlos had said Vaas could decide to kill me at any moment. I readied myself but he made no immediate move toward me. He stayed a good few yards away and met my eyes smirking, like the whole situation was fucking funny. Silently he passed me and crouched over the body of the prone boy. He grabbed a handful of the boy's ragged shirt and rolled him on his back. Half of the boy's face was covered in dark congealing blood. His eyes were vacantly staring, fingers twitching, mouth gasping for breath.

"Like a fucking fish," Vaas said to himself and shook his head. He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Jason, Jason, Jason, you haven't finished the job. Look at this fucker, he's still breathing."

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. "He's a fucking _kid_."

"Yeah and you bashed his skull in real good, hermano. You should have seen yourself." Vaas stood and wiped the blood on the thighs of his pants. He walked toward me and stopped when he was a foot away from my left shoulder. "I was so fucking proud, you know. But, now, Jason, you need to clean up your mess…" Vaas turned and looked back, considering the boy. "Or you could just leave him here to choke on his own blood…" He leaned in and put a hand on my shoulder. The action made me flinch, jerking away the second I felt the contact. "The choice is yours, Jason, you earned it."

I took a few cautionary steps away from Vaas and looked at the boy. He was still gasping, but now his eyes were focused on Vaas and me. He was no longer rapidly blinking. He was aware of us but I didn't see any recognition in his eyes, he looked simply curious. I vaguely wondered if head trauma was the cause.

"Go on," Vaas said gently.

I thought about Grant dying in front of me, the blood pouring out of his neck. His desperate last breaths. He was always so good to Riley and me. He'd told me about a man he'd had to shoot when his unit was sweeping a suspected terrorist's residence. The soldiers had surrounded the house and a man came running toward them, shouting. Grant had done what he was trained to do. He shot the man outside his own home. The man's wife was inside, ready to birth their child. There were no connections to Al-Qaeda, the child was born, but the man was still dead. I knew Grant hadn't forgiven himself.

_He lacks your strength,_ Citra said. _He was not a warrior like you are, Jason. He held back. You will not._

I crouched down next to the boy and rested a knee against his shoulder, holding his torso in place. With strong hands I grasped either side of his head. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but I could see the cuts along his throat. He tried again, his lips forming words I couldn't understand. I saw he was missing several teeth and his tongue. With a swift jerk I bent his neck, breaking it. _Snap, crackle, pop_. I felt the body below me relax and his eyes glazed over.

"Sorry," I said quietly, not wanting Vaas to hear and berate me for something like pity. I stood and looked at the blood on my hands. I wiped it on my pants as well, getting as much off as I could.

"As fun as your little game has been…" I began, turning to Vaas and meeting his eyes. "I'm really fucking tired, it's been a long day. If you want me ready to fight for you, I need to rest."

"Don't ever say I never did anything for you, Jason," Vaas said grinning and motioned for me to follow. "I've prepared something for you…" He held the door open and, against my better judgment, I stepped into the neon light.

The next room was concrete and cold despite being unnaturally bright. There were cages along both sides, two rows of three. In the strange light I could see several figures in them – men, women, and animals. In the center of the room, there was a larger empty cage. It was elevated on several packing crates and unlike the others it had a small cot in the center. The door clicked closed and I knew instantly it was meant for me.

"Only the best for you," Vaas said over my shoulder. "Think of it as the penthouse."

"I'm not a fucking prisoner or pet," I said and refused to look at the faces in the cages. They were all obediently silent. "You don't have to put me in that. I told you I won't run."

"If this upsets your first world American sensibilities I'm sure some of my men wouldn't mind sharing their beds… But somehow, somehow I think you would like that even less. So this is for you, Jason." Vaas said graciously. I found his congenial tone sickening. "Tonight you get to sleep with my other guests. These shit heads haven't proven themselves to be much more than temporary fun. Tomorrow, Jason, tomorrow you get your shot. You can fucking prove you're better than these motherfuckers. For now, you sleep here." Vaas sauntered over to the large cage and held the door open. "You're fucking tired, right? Take a load off. Get some fucking shut eye." I hesitated and he narrowed his eyes. "Get in or I will fucking maim you!"

I glowered but complied. I stepped into the cage and Vaas closed the door behind me. He locked it with a key he pulled from his belt. The space was tiny; the cot took up most of the area. I looked around at the cage; it was solid, welded steel bars and sturdy hinges I had no idea how to disassemble. I felt trapped and, unsurprisingly, claustrophobic.

"The last occupant, he showed a lot of promise, but… well you know exactly what happened to him." Vaas gave a casual shrug. "He couldn't compare to the real thing, you know. He wasn't like you and me, Jason."

"And what do we have in common," I said coldly. "What makes you think we have anything in fucking common, Vaas?"

"Don't fucking think you're better than me, hermano!" Vaas' casual tone had morphed into something cold and dangerous. "You fucking know, Jason! You fucking know, motherfucker! We share the same soul." I knew it wasn't true. Vaas was a sick fuck. A psychopath. He got off on watching people suffer. Everything I did, I had done for a reason: to save my friends.

_And to win, _I thought briefly_. _

Vaas continued, "I don't know why it had to be you, a fucking naïve white boy photographer from Hollywood, California, but life's fucking weird like that, you know?"

I did, but I didn't say so.

Vaas bent forward and picked up something from the floor near by. He dropped a piled of clothes into the cell. "Change, you smell like shit." He looked me up and down. "It is truly good to have you back, Jason."

I bit back a retort about how I disagreed with that statement on many, many levels but I wanted Vaas to leave as soon as possible. I wanted to lie down and think, plan, and, if I could, rest.

"Good night," Vaas singsonged. "Sweet dreams."

He smiled and headed to a flight of stairs I hadn't noticed. They were on the opposite side of the room, far from the door I'd entered through. Vaas stopped a few times near the other cages and peered at the occupants. Most of them shied away, huddling in the furthest corners. Vaas began to whistle "twinkle, twinkle little star" as he ascended the stairs. At the top of the flight, he opened a door and stepped into another room. The door closed behind him with an echoing clank.

I breathed and sat on the bed. The room was silent save for the sounds of breathe, both human and beast. Occasionally, the tiger in a far cell growled. I took some time to look around. There were several women in the cages. The strange light was obscuring their faces. A man was also in a cage nearer to me. He wasn't looking at me so much as he was staring into the space I occupied.

"Please," said the smallest girl. She was leaned against the bar, peering toward me. "Please, tell me what happened to the boy he let out."

I swallowed against my dry throat. "He's dead," I confessed.

"No…" The girl said in a half moan. "No…" Then, more coherently, "Did you kill him?"

"Yes. Who was he?"

"He was her brother," Another woman piped up from the other side of the room. The girl had retreated. I could hear her crying softly in her cell.

"Are you Jason Brody?" The woman asked.

"Yeah." I didn't want to talk.

I didn't want to know these people because I couldn't save them. Not without angering Vaas and putting myself and my family in danger. Putting me here, in this cage, was just another form of torture. He didn't have to keep me here more than one night, I would always know about this room and it's occupants. I didn't know if he did this to break my spirit or to show what he could do to me. Or both. Maybe he just kept his playthings in one box. I shuddered.

"He talks about you a lot," the same woman said. "He makes us do things he thinks you would be able to do, but he's never satisfied… Maybe he'll just fucking kill us now that you're here."

"I'm sorry," I said and looked at the floor. I thought I saw dried blood.

"It's because of you," the man said suddenly. I could hear a faint British accent. "He killed my brothers!"

I closed my eyes.

The door banged open and a guard came in carrying a bucket. I saw water sloshing over the rim as he walked toward me. He stopped outside my cell and put it within my reach, "Vaas says wash up."

He left briefly and then returned with two bowls, the first was smaller. He set it at on the crates, near the bucket of water. Then he began to make his rounds, stopping at each cage to drop some bread and meat on the floor. The prisoners picked up the food greedily eating it despite the dirt and sand.

"Fucking eat, Brody," the guard said when I didn't move. "Vaas wants you ready for tomorrow."

He reached the cell closest to the stairs. The woman inside stood and sauntered toward him. She said something in a low voice and the guard laughed. I saw him put the bowl of scraps down and reach to undo his fly. The sound of the zipper was almost as obscene as the image of the woman dropping to her knees.

I turned away but heard him say, "Do a good fucking job, bitch, and the rest of the food is all yours."

I looked into the bowl near my feet and had no appetite. There was some meat, the partial leg and breast of some bird, as well as a mound of cold rice. I picked up the bowl and heard the guard groan and praise the woman. I ate quickly and shamefully.

For what it was worth, my body thanked me for the energy. I felt instantly stronger, more focused. I set the bowl down and pulled the bucket against the bars of the cell. Water sloshed against my hands and I was reminded of how thirsty I was. Throwing caution to the wind I cupped my hands and drank what liquid I could transport from the bucket through the bars. I tasted rust in the water and decided if I died from some kind of bacteria, it would be worth it.

The man behind me finished with a grunt. I heard him zip up and empty the rest of the bowl into the woman's cell. He made his way back toward me to pick up my food bowl. I saw him flash me a mouth full of yellowing teeth as he bent to reach it.

"Next meal," he said. "Won't be free, Snow. I hope you can suck cock as well as you shoot."

"I think I'd rather starve," I said as he chuckled. "Vaas wants me ready to fight, you can't let that happen, right?"

"What he doesn't know, don't matter, right? Everyone's got to eat and I don't think you know real hunger, Brody." He turned from me and ambled away looking satisfied. He shut off the neon lights on his was out and the door banged behind him. There was a brief moment of darkness before my eyes adjusted; a small, high window lighted the room.

I picked up the clothes Vaas had left. I looked over the red shirt and black pants disdainfully. I didn't want to wear the shirt, not because it was the unofficial uniform of the Pirates, but because it was terrible for camouflage. I'd taken to wearing dark, muted colors, avoiding anything that drew the eye. I felt the grime and salt on my black shirt and conceded. I stripped to my boxers shamelessly. The other prisoners had gone silent ever since the guard left. I could care less if they saw the scars or bruises on my body. I drank a few more handfuls of water before using my discarded shirt as a washcloth. I crouched near the buckets and tried to wipe my skin clean. When I was finished I pulled on the shirt and pants. They fit surprisingly well.

"Well, he was right. You are prettier than me." I started at the voice of the woman from the furthest cell. She laughed brokenly. "What do they call you? Snow White? Fairest of them all… those animals are going to have a good time with you around."

"Not if I rip out their hearts out," I said and looked in her direction. I could only see her silhouette against the bars of her cage. In the dim light she looked like one of the demons I'd faced in my last drug induced hallucination. I almost expected fire the rise around her as she laughed again.

"I really hope you do, Brody." She stepped back, further into the darkness of her own cell and disappeared.

I finished cleaning up and lay back on the hard cot. It was better than the wet, soggy earth but the bars felt restricting. I tried to remember the lines of that guard's face and the yellow patterns on his teeth. When I saw him next I'd shoot out his fucking kneecaps then, when he was forced to kneel, I'd put the gun in his mouth and pull the trigger.

I breathed out and tried to let the anger in my body fade. It stayed with me in the night. Several times I dreamed of running through the jungle killing man after man.

When I finally awoke I knew I'd sporadically slept a few hours at a time. The sounds of whimpering prisoners and the restless jungle had woken me up more times than I could count. This time the sound of something metallic banging against the cell bars woke me from a shallow doze. I sat up and reached for the imagined machete at my waist.

On the other side of the bars Carlos chuckled. He had a machete of his own in one hand, resting on the metal cage. He said, "Morning." And began to unlocked the door. He didn't step inside, instead he handed the knife to me hilt first. "I'm giving this to you as a show of good faith, Brody. Vaas wants you ready and armed, we got a busy day."

I took it and, for a second, considered running it through his chest. But I remember what I'd decided. They would all die by my hand. I just had to be smart about it. Killing Carlos wouldn't get me where I needed to be. I had to have some form of ally on the Island, even if it was the fucking Pirates.

Carlos checked my bandages quickly; apply the salve and replacing the old cloth. We didn't speak, the eyes of the other prisoners on us at all times. I heard soft voices around me as I exited the cell. Carlos led me toward the stairs Vaas had taken last night. He reached the top and held the door open for me and I stepped into a well lit room.

It was roughly half the size of the room below. A large table was in the center, while chairs, a few old couches and worn mattresses were pushed up against the walls. Past the table, furthest from me, was a second door. It was closed and I could see no light radiating out from under the door or from behind the hinges. I looked around some more. Through two windows I noticed that it was still dark outside. I vaguely wondered how early it was. Despite the early hour, a group of ten men were gathered around the table. They stopped speaking amongst each other as I approached. I saw several reach for weapons. Carlos sensed the sudden tension and stepped in front of me.

"Yo," he said to the group. "You all know, Snow. He'll betaking Frankie's place from now on." Then to me, "Brody, this is Benny, Juarez, James, Felix, Don, Farruk, Lenny, Jackson, Salim, and Tony." They nodded toward me in a stiff greeting.

I nodded toward no one in particular and felt restless. I rested my hand against the machete at my side.

"I hope you're fucking worth it," the man called James said coldly, looking me up and down with distain. "Frankie was my brother. Those Rakyat shitheads shot him when we blew up that bridge."

"We're all sad about Frankie, man, but Brody is worth it," Carlos said quickly and placating. "Otherwise Vaas wouldn't have insisted."

"You know, I always thought you would be taller, Snow." Another man, Benny, laughed and failed to lighten the mood. "And a lot tougher. You look like a fucking pussy."

"And this pussy looking motherfucker still managed the kill most of your guys," I bit back, feeling my anger rising again.

There was a bang as the door behind Benny hit the wall with more force than necessary. The scent of marijuana permeated the room and Vaas sauntered out of a dark room, shirtless and very, very high. I could see several pink, puckering wounds on his torso and felt proud. They weren't completely healed which made me wonder how battle ready he was. Vaas met my eyes and grinned. He pulled a red tank top from where it was hanging from his back pocket. He dressed and approached the table with more grace than anyone smoking that much weed should be able to.

"Good morning, gentlemen." He chuckled a bit. To me he said: "I hope you slept well, Jason."

"We're ready," Carlos said and motioned to the table.

I hadn't noticed there was a large map spread out over the surface. There were many notes written over the surface, some were scribbles and little doodles, but there were other markings – notes about animal hunting grounds, plant life, safe houses, Rakyat patrols, and Privateer boat routes. The level of organization surprised me, it seemed out of character. But then again Vaas and the Pirates had held the island and it's inhabitants for a long time, there would have to be some method to their madness.

"We have a Bulker passing to the south east," a man who was either Farruk or Salim said and pointed to the map. "The Privateers have some weapons on that ship they're planning to trade for a shit load of cocaine. They'll dock here." He put a small black pebble on the map. "The Privateers will unload their cargo and then the bulker will pass on."

"So, like the last time?" Asked Lenny.

"No," Carlos said. "Unless we want to lose that many men."

"We start here," Benny leaned in and placed a bottle cap over an area marked as a high cliff face. "Fly in – like Vaas said – and take out the crew. Our boats come from the north, from behind the fucking bluffs, when the controls are secured."

"Who the hell is going to fly from the fucking cliffs?" Felix asked, sounding skeptical. "I don't know any men who can hang glide or use a wing suit…"

The room went silent and all eyes went to me. Felix frowned and I felt my face do the same.

"Jason, here." Vaas stood up from where he'd been leaning against a wall. "Jason has had a bit of experience, isn't that right? Jumping out of planes and all that _crazy_ shit."

"Yeah," I said dryly.

"Well…" Carlos pointed to the cliffs again. "Then Brody is going to fly in. He'll take out the crew on deck. Then the rest will follow on boats. We keep the captain alive, though. Stay the course and have him radio the Privateers. When the Privateer bastards bring their boats over to trade cocaine for guns, we use their own bullets on them. We take their guns and their drugs; unload what we need, then blow the ship. Leave a few dead Rakyat floating around and maybe the Privateers will think it was the Natives. If not, its cool, we still got the shit we need."

I was impressed though I'd never admit it aloud. It was a decent plan.

A _cruel plan_, I thought, _but no more so than when you ambushed unsuspecting pirates to free outposts._

"Here's the important part," Carlos looked at me. "We need to make sure the privateers aren't warned once we attack the ship. Brody, you need to get on undetected, kill who you need to, and then change the frequency of their radio. Don't destroy it because you'll need it contact us. Think you're up to it?"

"Yeah," I said. As much as I loathed working with the pirates I was excited at the prospect of battle.

Then, somewhere in the depth of my mind I thought: _Radio _and I knew I would definitely do it. I wasn't sure if the freighter's radio could even reach Los Angeles but there was a slim chance I could contact someone, anyone, and let them know my friends and family were in danger. I could loosen Vaas' hold over me. Killing a few gunrunners was a price I could pay.

I looked at the group of Pirates. They were willing to send me out, alone. They were confident that I couldn't betray them. _They are fools._ I felt my insides flare with hope. Out loud I simply asked, "Do you guys have a wing suit?"

Another hour and I was atop the cliff looking over the dark, rolling ocean. It was truly a sight. The sun was beginning to rise, but this early there was only a glow against the horizon. I tightened the straps against my chest and made sure my goggles were in place. The parachute was secure. Like Carlos had told me, a fog was rolling over the sea and spilling on to the beach, pushing up against the hills and smaller cliffs. From where I stood on the tallest cliff, I could see the silhouette of a large freighter moving slowly through the fog.

"Ready?" The man named Felix asked. He was still in the jeep.

I nodded and checked the wind. It was blowing over the sea, toward me. It would work. Taking a deep breath I began to walk backward. I wanted a running start. I look once more at Felix who watched me with interest before turning toward the drop-off and running. I pushed off the edge, my last step launching me into the air.

For less than a second I let myself fall and considered just continuing to do so. As excited as I was at the prospect of a firefight I did not want to help these men. Things were so different since the last time I'd been here. I hate myself for expecting everything to be the same. How could I have been so delusional? So naïve? The sound of rushing air and crashing waves engulfed me.

_Radio, _I thought and then spread my arms letting the wind catch in the fabric.

The adrenaline was back and it distracted me from my other worries. I grinned against the cold morning air. Squinting my eyes through my goggles, I angled myself toward the bulker. It was approaching fast. I felt cold as soon as I began to skim across the top of the fog. The front of my suit was wet and I had to look through wet goggles to keep my eyes on the target. When I was close enough, I dipped under the fog and pulled my chute.

Nothing happened and I knew I was fucked.

I vaguely wondered if it was sabotage. Some of the men in that meeting room wanted me dead. I felt a spike of fear crawl up my back. I tried to pull again but the result was the same. No ejection. There was no back up chute, either.

In the fog I'd lost all sight of the boat. I imagined myself running headlong into the side of the freighter, dying on impact. Dying as a red splat against the hull of some steel giant.

_There's no fucking way I'll go out like that,_ I thought, suddenly furious. _I'm too fucking close to being able to warn them. Radio, radio, radio…_

I closed my eyes and sent silent, meaningless apologies to everyone I knew. To everyone I was putting in danger. I thought about my mother dying horribly. Liza, cut up in pieces and littered across some high way and Riley, trying to save some poor bastard, only to be obliterated. Riley who should have become a pilot and been far, far away from all this shit.

And then, like lightening striking, I had a plan.


	6. Chapter Six: Monsoon

A/N: My beta has run off to a foreign country so for the moment this and the previous chapter will remain self edited. Sorry for any mistakes.  
Hope you're all enjoying the fic, even as things become more, uh, gruesome...

* * *

**HEAD OF THE GIANT**

**Chapter Six: Monsoon**

_"Well, in our country," said Alice, still panting a little, "you'd generally get to somewhere else — if you run very fast for a long time, as we've been doing."  
"A slow sort of country!" said the Queen. "Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!"_

I turned to rise above the fog again. As I broke through, I saw the freighter about two hundred yards in front of me. I made a split second decision, not even sure if it would work. I dove back down, below the fog. I let myself skim across the surface of the water before I angled myself so that I was nearly vertical.

The wind forced me up and I broke above the fog again. I waited to the inevitable moment when I lost all speed and fell straight down. I remembered watching a piloting video with Riley once in which a plane flew vertically, stalled its engine, and plummeted to the ground, ending in a fiery explosion.

I was nearly three stories above the ocean surface when I felt the draft let me go. I brought my arms to my sides and instantly I was falling. Unlike that plane Riley and I had watched fall to it's demise, I was going to dive into the ocean. _Just like diving of a board_, I thought and braced myself.

I struck the surface with such a jarring force that I thought I might have shattered the bones in my legs. It was freezing but as I sunk my biggest concern was breathing. I turned toward the surface struggling against the weight of the wing suit and the faulty parachute. My chilled fingers fumbled for the release straps against my chest. I felt the click as the parachute came free. I pulled my arms from it and let the pack sink. The wing suit was heavy but not so much that I couldn't swim.

I broke through the surface and gasped for breath. Instantly, I realized I had lost sight of the ship. All I could see around me was white. Taking a second to catch my breath I treaded water and squinted through my goggles to try to spot anything that would indicate there was a ship near by.

A wave hit me and washed me under. I broke the surface and gasped. There was very little wind near the water. I realized suddenly that the wave could only be caused by the bulk of the freighter pushing through the water. With renewed strength I swam against the next wave. The outline of a ship became more and more distinct as I pressed on. It was nearly impossible to swim against the waves when I could clearly see the ship. I looked for some way to get aboard. I saw several ropes hanging from the front of the freighter. I imagined they would have been used to tie the ship down when docked but in the wind they'd been loosened. I swam toward the nearest one and grabbed on, allowing my legs a quick rest.

I looked up. The front of the ship was above me. I didn't know whether there was anyone or any form of cover on deck. Taking a deep breath I began to shimmy up the rope. A gust of wind hit me and I slid, my hands burring against the rough texture. I began again, pulling and pulling and pulling myself until I was at the railing. Taking hold of the cold bars with my burning hands I hoisted myself over.

There were several crates of different sizes littered about the deck. I pulled myself behind a large pile of wooden crates and rested against the cold metal.

After a few minutes I pulled off the wing suit and made sure the machete was secured against my hip. I crouched and peaked from behind the crates. The deck was empty but I would see a light moving back and forth further down the railing. Someone was patrolling. Silently I moved, crouching and ducking, moving toward the light. As I approached I began to make out the silhouette of a man. He threw his head back and yawned before continuing further down the side of the ship.

I moved quickly, darting out from behind a small crate I'd been using as cover and grabbed him, placing a hand over his mouth. He started and dropped his light. The sound of the flashlight hitting the metal deck was lost against the roar of the engine and the sea.

"Tell me how many men are on this ship," I hissed. The man struggled and I said again, "How many men!" He nodded frantically and said something against my hand. I released his mouth.

"Crew of five!" He said and struggled. "Only five!" I took his frantic behavior as a sign of truth.

Grimacing I broke his neck and threw him over board much like I had done with Foster. There was no sound as his body hit the water and disappeared. I picked up his flashlight, which was rocking back and forth with the swaying of the ship. I continued down his route, masked by the fog.

Another man with a similar light appeared. He waved to me and I waved back. He turned and I drew my machete. With a swift throw it buried in the back of his head and he crumpled. I wiped off the blade and threw him into the water as well.

The third man was on the stairs leading toward the control room. He squinted at me and called names I didn't recognize. I waved again and he turned away to walk up the steps. I caught him from behind and slit his throat, my hand over his mouth. I let him roll down the steps and crumple at the bottom.

I reached the highest point on the freighter. I was well above the fog and the sun was already beginning to crest over the horizon. As I made my way toward the control room, I avoided the small circular windows. I had spotted two men in the room, but neither was particularly identifiable as the captain. I found the door and braced myself against it. The gun Felix had given me was holstered at my side. I took it out and took a deep breath before pulling the heavy door open. I aimed the gun at the nearest man.

"Hands where I can see them or this motherfucker dies!" I yelled, startling both men. Immediately they raised their hands. I looked from one to the other. My gun was pointed at the younger of the two. Both had on heavy woolen coats, grey with age. "Who is the captain?"

When neither of the answered, I tried again. "Fine." I pointed the gun at the other man, the older one with white streaks running through his beard. "Then you die."

"Wait, no!" He shouted in an accent that was something close to Russian. "I am the Captain. Do not shoot!"

"Is he?" I asked the other.

He was nodding vigorously. "Yes, yes, he is the Captain –"

I shot him through the eye before he finished. The glass behind him exploded and cold air rushed into the room. The captain shrieked and made to move for what I assumed was the radio. I shot him in the shoulder and he toppled mid step. I kicked him aside and went to the radio.

It took me a second to change frequencies, but I eventually figured it out. The set up was similar to the Medusa. I leaned into the microphone as the captain groaned somewhere from the ground.

"Carlos," I said. "Carlos, it's done. Send the boats."

Vaas' voice filled the speakers and I winced. "Color me impressed, Jason." He laughed and cut the feed.

At my feet, the captain grabbed my ankle. "Please," he said. "I have friends on the South Island. They can get you money, drugs, whatever you want. I can talk to them."

I pulled away. "I don't want any of that."

He frowned and squinted up at me. "You're different. You're not like the Pirates I heard about, then?"

"You're right," I said and holstered the gun. "I'm not one of them. But I need to know if this radio can reach Los Angeles. The pirates are holding my family hostage. I need to call them. To warn them. If you help me, I'll help you. But we don't have much time."

"You should have asked instead of killing my friend and shooting me." The man pulled himself into a sitting position. He laughed softly and looked over to where the younger man was slumped over a control panel. "That man was like a son to me…"

"Can the radio reach L.A.?" I persisted.

"No. Not that far." He reached into his coat and I reached for my gun. He shook his head and produced a cellphone. "It was a satellite phone, but…" He coughed a bit and showed me the cracked screen. "I felt it break when I fell, after you shot me. If you had asked and not resorted to this unnecessary violence, this phone would have been able to reach Los Angeles." He threw it at my feet and a few pieces of glass fell from the chipped screen.

_Fuck_.

_Fuck._

"Fuck," I swore and looked around the room for something to lash out against. "Does anyone else on this ship have a phone?" I must have sounded desperate because the man looked almost sympathetic.

"No, only me. Only this one," he motioned toward the broken phone at my feet. "We would share, call our families…" His eyes darted to me and then the machete. It was still bloody. "Did you kill the others, too?"

"Yes," I answered without meeting his eyes. Then, viciously, I said, "What the fuck does it matter. You're running guns to some ex-military bastards who shoot up villages."

"I do not think you can take a moral high ground in this situation," the Captain said and clutched at his shoulder wound wincing. "You know, I was wrong, you are very much like the pirates I've heard so much about. You may not want money or drugs but you think you can shoot your way to an answer. Let me tell you, boy, it's not going to always work."

I felt anger well in my chest as I looked at the crumpled man and broken phone. This had been my chance to warn them, to try to save them. The men I'd killed would die in vein; they would die so that the Pirates could get their hands on more guns and drugs.

_Good job, mate,_ Buck said derisively over my shoulder_. Looks like you blew your one and only chance to help your family. Smashing, Jason, just smashing. Now, I've got to wonder what the hell else you can fuck up… and after seeing this, how the fuck did you even manage to kill me, eh?_

_It has always been luck, hasn't it, Jason,_ Hoyt said from my other side. _Life dealt the cards and you've gotten this far on a good hand, but now that you're up against a better man you've got nothing. You won't win with a bluff, Jason. Face it. You're fucked, my friend._

_Jason, _Citra chimed in, seemingly all around me. _Jason, it disappoints me to see you this way. This was your chance. You…_

"Shut up!" I yelled into the empty room. "All of you shut the fuck up!"

The captain looked at me in surprised and I saw his face fill with fear. I breathed hard and leaned over a control panel. "Just… be quiet," I hissed.

"Yeah, of course," The man said and I knew that look in his eyes.

"I'm not…You know, what? Fuck you! I don't like the way you're looking at me, okay?" I hissed. The machete was in my hand. I breathed out and tried to reign in my anger and panic. "Okay, sorry, fuck… I'm gonna relax… I just… I'm going to have to find some other way, you know. I'll have to try again."

The man was still looking at me like I was crazy.

I laughed hollowly. "You know," I said and sheathed the machete. "Hearing voices isn't the definition of insanity." I had to stop myself before I broke down and laughed harder.

The man nodded mutely and I spotted a pack of cigarettes resting on one of the intact windowsills. I grabbed them and looked around for a lighter. The old man reached into his breast pocket again and pulled out a silver zippo lighter. He offered it up to me in a silent gesture of peace. I accepted it and lit up. Whatever brand these were, they were strong and I closed my eyes for a second, taking in the scent of tobacco.

"Thanks," I said and made to hand back the lighter.

"Keep it," the man said. He was looking pale. "I will not be using it much more, I think." He looked at the pack of cigarettes. "And since you are smoking my dead friend's tobacco, may I have one?"

I nodded and offered the open box to him. He took out a slim, white stick and put it to his mouth. I flicked the lighter open and offered him the flame. Leaning forward with effort he stuck the end in his mouth and inhaled. He coughed suddenly, grimaced, and then laughed to himself. From the way he constantly inhaled too quickly and breathes out too fast I could tell it was probably his first time smoking.

_And his last,_ I thought grimly. _Here's another motherfucker going calmly to his death. Why can't you just do that, Jason, huh? Why can't you just fade away, die quietly, gracefully, why do you always fight?_

"I am sorry," I said quietly. "I wish I'd thought of a better way."

"Yes," the man nodded and flicked his used butt away. "I can tell you have killed before. Does saying 'sorry' make it better? Make it alright?"

I didn't answer and we both knew my silence was a resounding 'no'. I finished my own cigarette and rubbed it out on the floor with my boot. The sun had risen high enough to send golden rays through the cabin's small, circular windows.

"We're boarding," Carlos' voice crackled over the radio nearly making me jump.

I could hear men shouting and boots stomping up the metal stairs toward the cabin. I stayed where I was, across the room from the captain, staring at the broken phone. I didn't want to move. I felt like I was liable to shoot him or myself.

The door opened and a big man with a black beret hat strode in. It was James. He looked at the dead man and then at the wounded Captain. I couldn't tell if he was impressed or not but he just nodded at me.

"I'll take it from here," James said and motioned for my gun. I handed it over and made sure he didn't turn it on me. James pulled the Captain to his feet. He addressed the injured man, "You an me, friend, we're gonna give your Privateer buddies a call, okay? Be good and you won't die painfully."

I left the suffocating room without looking back. As I leaned over the railing I watched the last of the Pirate's boats attach to the far side of the freighter. They were secured to the side facing the open sea, hidden from anyone on the shoreline. The sun was above the water now and men were scrambling to load guns and brace themselves along the deck nearest to the island. I could also see a few more boats with mounted machine guns coming around a rocky outcropping. They were approaching from the south; it was the Privateers.

From my vantage point I watched the scene unfold. The Pirates were crouching behind crates and the metal hull of the ship. They were careful to keep out of sight. The five Privateer ships came within viewing distance and a few of the men in yellow and black waved at the freighter. I knew that they couldn't see the ship well, the sun was silhouetting the freighter, creating one big black shape against an orange backdrop. I wondered if this was a tactical advantage Carlos and the others considered. A horn blew and one pirate, wearing the coat of the man whose throat I'd cut, waved back toward the Privateers.

The approaching men seemed to visibly relax. The gunners on the boats turned their barrels away from the freighter. I lost sight of the five boats as they neared the side of the bulker. The pirate wearing the coat gave a yell and the men who'd previously been crouching and hiding leaned over the edge of the ship and rained bullets down on the unsuspecting men. There was no way the Privateers would survive or escape.

_Fish in a fucking barrel,_ I thought but didn't look away.

I saw a few men on deck stagger backward and crumple. Some of the Privateers were firing back, but in a matter of seconds the fight was over. I felt the echoes of gunshots ring in my ears. They were replaced with whoops and shouts of joy from the triumphant Pirates. There was a single, final gunshot from the cabin near me and James emerged looking smug. He didn't address me, though, and I followed him down the metal stairs.

When I leaned over the railing I could see two Privateer boats remaining. There were several bodies floating as well. For the most part, the sea had swallowed the unfortunate men. I was slightly relieved; I didn't want to see the entirety of my work. It was my fault, after all, that they had died. How many were there? Fifteen or twenty men. Not a great number but was that something I should even consider. The part of me that hated the killing, hated what I'd become, knew that it didn't matter that nearly twenty men had died in the last ten minutes. It mattered that they had died.

I didn't want to stay on the freighter any longer than necessary, but I needed to wait for the men to unload the cargo. I walked back up to the highest point on the ship, to the deck around the cabin. I didn't go inside. I didn't feel like seeing the body of the Captain lying where James had shot him. Instead I sat down on the last step of the metal stairway. I closed my eyes and let the sun beating against my face. The day was already warm and promising to be beautiful. I pulled out the pack of cigarettes and lit another. I watched pirates open crates and call to one and other. I was reminded of children opening Christmas presents. There were excited voices in the air, jovial laughs, and whoops of happiness.

"Brody," Carlos said from behind me and I turned. I couldn't see his eyes under the aviators but he was grinning. "We hit the mother load with this ship. They're fucking transporting beer and tobacco from a port in Hong Kong to Sydney. The beer's cheep Chinese shit, but it's still beer."

"Great," I said and took a long drag from the cigarette.

"We're not gonna destroy the ship. There's too much to carry back, we're gonna sail it back to Vaas Camp." Carlos looked over the riling at the excited men below. "Good job, Jason. This would have been much harder without you."

"Please don't thank me," I said. "Doesn't it bother you that people died for beer, tobacco, and a few guns?"

Carlos paused and looked thoughtful. "It used to, I think, but when you live long enough on this Island you begin to understand the, what do people call it, 'law of the jungle'. You gotta take what you need before someone else does, Brody, that's the only way to survive around here."

"Yeah," I flicked the finished cigarette over the edge. "I'm starting to get that."

"Good," Carlos clapped me on the shoulder. "Cheer up, man."

Carlos grinned and headed down the stairs, into the fray below. The boat began to move again, the front end swinging wide and turning back toward the north, toward Vaas' island. I lit my third cigarette and watched the lush jungle pass me by. I wanted the run. I wanted to free myself from the invisible hold Vaas and these men, these animals, had over me. I'd really fucked up my chance to warn Riley, Liza, and my mother but I knew, somehow, I would get another chance. It was just a matter of time. I just had to try again.

I felt a chill run through me as the ocean wind hit my wet cloths. I'd forgotten I was still drying off from my impromptu swim. I wasn't dripping wet, just damp. I stood up and decided to sit against one of the sunlit walls outside of the cabin. The adrenaline that masked most of my physical discomfort was wearing off. With its absence, my body was becoming tired and soar. I let my head rest in my hands and my eyes close. The warmth of the sun engulfed me.

"Wakey, wakey, Snow White," someone was very close to me. I realized that I must have dozed off.

I sat up and blinked against the brighter sun. At least a few hours had passed. There were several pirates around me; behind them I could see Vaas' Island and many men in red shirts unloading boxes and crates onto the beach.

There were three men on the deck with me. I recognized the yellow teeth of the guard who'd been feeding the prisoners last night. He was looking me over lewdly. I stood up and felt the hot metal of the cabin at my back. He looked at one of his friends and said, "I will fucking bet you a week's worth of pay that he swallows."

"Get the fuck away from me," I said and wished I hadn't handed my gun over to James. There were at least eight shots left in the clip.

"Relax, Snow," said another and laughed. "Vaas wants your bitch ass on the beach. Got something for you to do."

"Fine," I pushed past the third man and headed down the metal stairs. A ramp had been made from a few burnt support beams and plywood. It connected the side of the freighter to the old dock that marked the entrance to the compound.

I made my way over to a group of men further up the beach. They were in a large circle around something. I assumed Vaas was in the midst of it. I was still tired but the dread that rose in my stomach pushed the weariness back as I pressed on. Several men stepped back as I entered the circle.

"Jason, glad you could join us," Vaas was pacing back and forth. Behind him was a row seven of kneeling figures. I thought they might have been Rakyat villagers but their features were different. They were definitely Asian, probably Chinese since that was the freighters last port. "We found these mother fuckers smuggled in one of the bigger crates. Fucking packed together like meat. Did you know they were all shitting and pissing in the same fucking bucket? Poor bastards." Vaas laughed and leaned toward one of the young women. "Bet you thought you were going to some glamorous fucking life across the sea." She cried and twisted out of his grasp. "Shhh, shhh, it's okay. Are you not fucking happy to be out of that fucking shit hole? Hm? Are you not grateful that were freed you."

She cried again and Vaas sighed like he was disappointed.

I looked over the seven people. The women were young; maybe they were being sold as sex slaves. The three men were able bodied, so maybe they were just going to Australia for a better life? Maybe they're families had paid some ungodly fee so they could find something better, somewhere better. Wasn't that why so many Mexican's jumped the border into the United States? I remembered hearing stories on the news about semi trucks with hidden compartments. People would crowd in, ride for days, and sometimes die, just for the chance to better themselves. This wasn't much different.

_Small fucking world,_ I thought.

"English?" Vaas asked and chuckled. "Really, no one? Wow, you, all of you, are very special. Untouched by Western influence. Still speaking your native tongue. I'd ask you where you're from but that, well, the point is moot, right? How about something you do understand?" He pulled the revolver from his belt. He leveled it with the head of one man. Instantly the man began to beg, pleading in a language I didn't understand. "Everyone understands fear," Vaas said. He fired and the man fell backward. The other six made sounds of alarm and protest. "Yes, everyone understands death."

Vass' eyes flicked to me. "Jason!" he turned to me jovially. "As much as I enjoy speaking to these men and women, I think you should have the honor." He offered me his revolver. "C'mon, Jason, what's a few more lives?"

"I don't…"

"No, no, no, hermano. This is a gift for you." Vaas walked forward and grabbed my right hand. He placed the cold metal in my hand. "But, if it makes you feel better, I will give you an ultimatum. If you do not shoot them, Jason, they will suffer. They will want to die. I will give the girls to my men." This statement caused a few calls of approval from the crowd. "The boys will be fed to my tigers. I will make them kill one and other for the chance to die painlessly… or you can save them, Jason. I know that's what you want to do, isn't it?"

I swallowed and tightened my grip on the revolver. "Yes, Vaas."

He leaned in so his face was inches from mine. "Good boy."

I wrenched my hand free from his grip. I aimed and fired six times. I didn't even think about it. There were some groans of disappointment as the women died. Some of the pirates cheered.

"Hermano," Vaas said and took his revolver back from my stiff fingers. He loaded it and set it back in my hands. "Keep it."

I felt cold. It was a calm rage like I'd never experienced before. I wanted to shoot Vaas in his grinning face. Instead, I put the gun in my empty hip holster. "I killed them for you. I jumped of a fucking cliff with a bad parachute and then I killed the ship's crew. I've done everything you've asked me to. Can I have something from you in return, Vaas?"

This seemed to intrigue the psychopath and he nodded. "And what is it, Jason?"

"One of your men, I won't kill him, I just want to make sure he knows who he's fucking with." I saw the group around us shift uncomfortably when I drew my machete. I searched the crowd and found the same yellowing teeth and drug-ringed eyes. "Him." Several of the other Pirates around him had stepped away like he was suddenly contagious. He was looking at Vaas, almost pleadingly. Vaas' eyes were only on me. "I'll make it interesting."

"Hold him!" Vaas ordered suddenly. When the men around us hesitated Vaas shouted it again with anger. "Fucking hold him! I want to see what this chickenfuck gringo will do!"

The man was grabbed and held still between Felix and James. I drew the machete from my belt and approached him. He was shaking, his knees shuttering under him. I hooked the blade under the belt at the front of his pants and cut through the leather. He let out a cry and tried to move away but the two men held him still. I undid the buckle at his waist with my free hand as I slide the dull edge of the blade into his pants, against his skin. I reached my free hand in and grabbed his withering cock.

"You want me to go down on you?" I asked. "You want my mouth, or my hands?"

He let out a series of shuddering words that sounded like: "No, no, no, please, no, please, no, no, no, I'm sorry… no…"

With one swift movement I cut through the soft flesh. He cried out and there was a gasp and groan from the men around me. I held up my bloody hand and then dropped the mass of flesh in the sand between us. Felix and James released him and looked disgusted. He crumpled, digging in the sand, snot and tears running from his face. I sheathed the bloody machete and didn't bother cleaning my hands. I turned to Vaas.

He licked his lips. "I'm impressed, Jason." He looked at me again, sizing me up. "Clean up, we're done. I need a fucking smoke." Without another word he turned and began to walk up the beach, toward the camp.

Carlos put a hand on my shoulder and leaned in whispering, "Good show, Brody. No one's going to mess with you for a while."`

"Fuck off," I said and he released me to follow Vaas back toward the camp. Carlos shot me a sidelong look but I didn't bother to meet it.

I looked down at the body of the shuddering man. He was leaking blood into the pristine white sand. I almost felt bad, but I had reached that point in my mind where it didn't matter anymore. I thought about killing him but I knew he'd probably do it himself if he didn't bleed out. Maybe he'd try to kill me later. I turned and followed Vaas; the men around me gave me a wide birth.


End file.
